


kick that feeble dream and whisper something like a prayer

by kylonaberrie



Series: may it be so, may it be so, may it be so [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Autistic Clones, Background Slick/OCs, Clone Centric, Clone Trooper Culture (Star Wars), F/M, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, POV Second Person, Prayer, Queerplatonic Relationships, Ramification of the Republic's fucking actions, Slavery, Trans Clones, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 60,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25734475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylonaberrie/pseuds/kylonaberrie
Summary: Slick doesn't know what to do anymore.
Relationships: Dogma & OC, Dogma & Slick & OC, Dogma/Slick (Star Wars), Slick & OC
Series: may it be so, may it be so, may it be so [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004013
Comments: 37
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> look yall i really really really wanted to write about clones
> 
> inspired by [sw destinies,](https://swdestinies.tumblr.com/post/74063469547/archive-next-chapter-rating-y7-i-have) which is a really good comic, go read it. doesn't have a whole lot in common w this though other than it inspired me to write about slick and dogma together, and it also inspired niko (he's based off the guy with the half burned face we briefly see. he does not have that injury here though.)
> 
> basically its just what if slick and dogma were deployed together and goes from there. this takes place on christophsis before "the hidden enemy" or any of that. also feat oc man bc i cant be stopped
> 
> tags & warnings may be subject to change bc i as ever have no idea where i'm going with this.
> 
> explanation of the relationship tags: not sure exactly what to tag this with, it is mostly about queerplatonic relationships mostly between men, with background m/m sexual/romantic content and (future) m/f romantic content (probably? maybe sexual content too? i dont know what i'm doing). its in a setting with different assumed default relationships than typical western romance so i figured "other" fit the best
> 
> the chopper in the tags is the clone not the droid ftr
> 
> current warnings include:
> 
> \- slavery of the clone army  
> \- ableism & internalised ableism (lots of that)  
> \- euthanasia & eugenics mentions  
> \- capital punishment mentions  
> \- unethical experimentation mentions  
> \- suicidal ideation, suicide threats, discussion of suicide, suicide agreements  
> \- mental illness & trauma symptoms, incl. POV dissociation, amnesia, paranoia, panic attacks, skewed thinking, triggers, unreliable memories, unreliable senses/minor hallucinations, nausea, depression, anxiety, acting unintentionally, disordered eating, disordered sleeping, nightmares, low self worth, self blame, flashbacks (might be missing some others)  
> \- unhealthy coping mechanisms  
> \- small amounts of sexual content (clone x clone)  
> \- rape (not committed by a main character)  
> \- reconditioning & memory wipes  
> \- minor character death  
> \- smoking & drinking  
> \- vomiting  
> \- non-sexual nudity  
> \- fucked up young men making fucked up decisions
> 
> title is from [no more shame, no more fear, no more dread by ajj](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsIHSe3IKTM)

_dodging rocks and bottles, trapped in a cage_

_when something stabs you, you’ve gotta get more blood_

_if my ugly had a shape it would be a spiral, moving forward as it spins around_

_it’s all that i can do to break the cycle_

_just veer hard as i can and keep from crashing to the ground_

[ \-- ajj, “no more shame, no more fear, no more dread” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsIHSe3IKTM)

Spare rooms on base are a good place to find some goddamn privacy; there's not really anything to interact with inside them so people'll buy you're just trying to have a wank without four other fuckers breathing down your neck. But this one's occupied, two nervous looking bastards, one with a big fuckoff face tattoo and the other shinier than Skywalker's ass in direct sunlight. They both jump when you come in and snap to attention, the shiny a beat after his friend. You resist the urge to laugh at them hopping like jackrats as if you're the scariest thing here.

'At ease.' You're formulating exactly what else to say and your eyes scrape over them. They've a couple of blasters without the power packs in and a datapad resting on top of an empty crate. Probably playing pretend or some shit. You file away the information. 'Just trying to find some privacy for ten goddamned minutes. I'll let y'all have yours.'

You walk away and find yourself a dark corner to breathe in, reeling more than you'd like from the unexpected encounter. You lean against the wall and just breathe for a few moments. You're being stupid. Just a couple of idiots getting up to harmless shit they aren't supposed to. They're not going to narc on you, because they don't want anyone to know they're sneaking off either. Besides, it's not like getting some air would qualify you for a court-martial. You're just being jumpy.

You sink to the floor in a crouch and take in the silence, eyes closed, trying to forget the run-in. You're getting worse and worse these days, seeing shadows and decomissions around every corner. You're not even doing anything wrong.

Yet.

Still, it feels like only a matter of time before you slip and betray your thoughts and failing beliefs even if you don't intend to. It feels like every goddamn person ranked above or even below you can read your mind and will rat you out. You're too scared to go within twenty meters of the general, which someone's going to notice sooner or later, but Jedi _can_ read minds, so you sure as fuck hope it's later. You don't know what you're going to do, other than hold out as long as you can and pray somebody's listening when you ask for a quick death.

You think about those two brothers jumping to attention like the fucking Chancellor was standing behind you. Maybe you're not the only one here with secrets.

Maybe your only hope is finding someone you can trust.

You look for them next time you're in the mess hall. You don't see them, but there's enough men on base that it could be a coincidence.

Or they could've snuck off together.

You don't do that thing. You're at least smart enough to know that skipping communal times too often or too regularly gets you looked at. You sit where there's space free and avoid talking to anyone beyond friendly enough greetings. You know that can be suspicious in itself but you just can't, anymore. All these normal bastards who walk around like they're fine and this is all fine. You plan your words before every sentence you have to say, not sure if there's any other way to stop yourself from screaming.

Fuck but it's a bad place you're in. When you're finished eating you go looking for your mystery brothers.

They're not in the same room as before. It's good, shows at least they're not _that_ stupid, and you don't mind the distraction even though it means more time wandering and another potential mark if anyone's keeping a ledger. You're glad for any free time not spent reading manuals or cleaning your kit for the umpteenth time or any other excuses not to talk to your squad you can scrape up. They're bound to notice eventually, and you know you're a goner, but that's all the more reason to enjoy yourself if such a thing is possible.

You find them in the third place you check. You know this base's hidey holes pretty well. This one's furniture storage, mostly empty save for a few cot frames and chairs and a desk, and this time they're in the middle of doing something. The dude with the face tattoo fumbles and drops the datapad as he hurries to stand up, the shiny following his lead. They're both staring at you, trying not to stare at you, in fear. Fucking kids have no sabacc faces to speak of.

You enter the room and close the door. 'At ease,' you say, and wet your lips, nervous all of a sudden, even faced with their nervousness.

Tattoo drops his salute, still standing ramrod stiff and eyeing you nervously. The shiny awkwardly takes his down and looks away. Pathetic, but the thought doesn't hold any ire. Neither of them speak, so you have to.

'Look,' you say. Take a deep breath. Think about it. Then talk. 'I don't know what you guys are up to, and I'm not here to rat you out. I just thought... we might have a few things in common.' And, you don't say, the longer you're alone the madder you fear you'll go.

'We're not doing anything wrong, if that's what you're implying,' Tattoo says with an earnestness that under different circumstances would make you want to either laugh or cry. 'Whatever you're getting at, we want no part of it. We're only studying.'

'Studying.' That's not what you expected. 'Studying what?'

'Just procedural manuals.' Tattoo hurriedly picks up the datapad and points at it to show you. 'We're just brushing up.'

You frown. You believe him, he's too shit of a liar not to be telling the truth, but-- 'Why are you doing that in private?' Reading procedural manuals is about the least questionable thing you can do in communal downtime, that's the only reason you yourself do it. They still both have that cagey, frightened look about them, like they know they've gotten caught doing something they shouldn't, and the shiny still won't look you in the face. There's something else here.

Tattoo goes on the offensive. 'What are you doing here, anyway? What were you talking about, you think we're like you?'

You open your mouth to reply, but the shiny beats you to it. 'Maybe he's right,' he mutters.

Tattoo takes his eyes off you to look at the kid, then at you, then the kid. Kid really doesn't read like a soldier, all shrunk down in the shoulders and making a point to keep eyes off you. You can see why a guy like that needs to review...

Suddenly it makes sense. 'Fuck, how did you make it off Kamino?' It slips out before you've thought about it. The kid flinches.

Tattoo manages to pick his jaw up off the ground. 'I-- I don't have any idea what you're talking about,' he says, and it's almost a good effort but he's stammering. 'And neither does he. We're not doing anything _wrong.'_

God. He says it like it matters. 'Cut the crap. You two couldn't lie to blind nuns to save your lives. He's defective, slipped through the filter, and you're helping him cover his ass. Tell me I'm wrong.'

Tattoo walks up to you, jaw held tight. For a moment you think he's going to punch you. 'You're wrong,' he says, though it seems to take him a great effort. 'He's not defective. They just-- they've been shipping shinies out too early. He just needs to catch up.' You can see him trembling, trying to stay brave. Trying to stand up for his brother.

'You still can't fib for shit, kid, but... I'm not here to start a fight. You may have noticed I'm also skulking around in back rooms.'

He looks like he in fact didn't notice. How these two survived this long is anyone's guess. You take a deep breath and continue. 'You two are gonna get caught fast the way you're heading. I thought maybe we could help each other stay alive a little longer.'

Tattoo's eyes search yours, and he takes a step back, the better to look at all of you. You don't know what he sees. You make yourself look as plain as anyone, but you don't know what anyone sees these days. 'Why?' he asks after a long moment. 'Why do you need help?'

And there it is. You should've known this was coming, idiot you are. You should've been readier. Instead you have to make yourself breathe for a few seconds. Let your eyes close. 'Mutually assured destruction?'

You open your eyes, and look at Tattoo. 'Like we have a choice,' he says, softly, and it's the only intelligent thing that's left his mouth so far but it's still enough for you to plow ahead. If this is the wrong choice, it was only a matter of time.

You still have to take another deep breath. 'I think I'm going insane.'

Tattoo looks at you quizzically. 'No, listen,' you continue. 'Nothing makes sense anymore. Everything we're doing-- we fight and die for the Republic, and for what? To be decommissioned if we don't fight and die to their standards? We're fighting a war for the rights of people who don't give a single fucking damn about us.' Tears threaten to fall from your eyes now that you're finally saying what's been in your head for months. You aren't picking your words carefully anymore. 'All this freedom, this democracy we're supposed to be protecting-- we don't get any of that. We get years locked in white rooms on Kamino and if we pass their stupid tests then we get to go die later and in more pain than we would've if we just failed. They send us out to fight for other people's lives and we don't get our own.'

You're crying. You can't help it. It must be the first time you've cried in years. Tattoo looks scared. 'Keep your voice down,' he hisses, eyes huge, hands placating. 'You're going to get us all in trouble.'

'And what? They'll kill us?' You laugh mirthlessly. A sort of drunk recklessness has come over you now that you're finally speaking your mind. 'I don't know why I haven't kissed my blaster already and saved myself from this fucking--'

_'Quiet,'_ Tattoo says, and you're quiet without thinking about it. 'You came to us to help you survive, and you might have a lot to say but you don't know everything. I've worked hard to get where I am. I can maybe keep you from getting court-martialed in exchange for your silence. Maybe. But if you go on like that, they'll kill us too just for listening. You say you're going insane, well I agree, and lucky for you I've already got lessons formulated for how to stand straight and fly right. But if you're so eager to die, then when it's us or you, I'm making it you. Got it?'

This was absolutely, completely, a mistake. _Nice going, Slick._ Part of you burns. You don't know what to say. You don't know why you thought this would work out. Why you thought anything would ever work out, or why there would be any hope for you. You don't get hope. You're not a person. You realise, dimly, that you're still crying.

‘Dogma,’ the shiny says entreatingly. Tattoo, Dogma you guess, god what a fucking suited name for the bastard-- looks around.

‘I have to be harsh, _vod,_ ’ he says, and looks back at you, eyes steely. ‘This kind of talk gets you killed. You want to stay alive, right?’

‘Right.’ He doesn’t sound too convicted about it. Dogma looks back at him, turning away from you.

‘So don’t ever repeat any of this. Don’t ever talk like he just talked. Okay? This is very important. Promise me.’

‘I promise.’

‘Good. He’s not right, anyway. We have plenty to live for. We’re helping people be free. It’s the best job in the galaxy anyone could ask for. Most people just live and die for themselves, but we’re building something outside ourselves. Something better. We have purpose, and it’s the best gift the Republic could ever give us. After the war-- I don’t know what will happen, nobody does, but we’ll have built a great galaxy and we’ll get to live in it. You understand, _vod?’_

The shiny nods, head down. ‘Niko,’ Dogma says. ‘Niko, look at me.’

Niko awkwardly finds his gaze, brow furrowed.

‘Niko, do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Repeat it back to me.’

‘We have the best job in the galaxy because we’re helping people be free. We’re not like most people. We get to build something outside ourselves. The Republic is helping us build a good galaxy. We don’t know what will happen when the war is over, but we’ll have built a good galaxy.’

‘The Republic gives us purpose.’

‘The Republic gives us purpose. And I shouldn’t ever talk like he just talked.’

‘You’re right, _vod,_ but don’t ever say that last part.’

‘The Republic gives us purpose.’

‘Good.’ Dogma closes the distance between them and reaches to touch Niko’s hair affectionately. Niko closes his eyes. ‘Good job.’

You watch all this happen, not sure what you’re feeling. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re just crazy, and he can fix you like he’s fixing this defective kid. Maybe you can believe in it all again. Maybe you can feel alright again. You feel half hopeful, half painfully bitter.

Dogma turns to you. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Slick.’

‘You’re a sergeant?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you made it this far. You should know better than to talk like that.’

‘I know.’ You burn with shame. ‘I just-- it’s been so long. I haven’t been able to talk to anybody. They’d decommission me, you know they’d decommission me.’ You aren’t watching your fucking mouth again. You have no idea what you’re saying. ‘I thought maybe you guys-- you’re hiding from everybody too.’

Dogma nods. ‘I’m not going to turn you in. You just can’t talk like that. You’ll get all of us killed.’

‘I know.’ You feel like a cadet again, Dogma’s voice steadier and kinder than any trainer you’ve ever had. ‘You did ask.’

‘I did. And you answered. But now that I know, you’ve got to stow it from now on, okay?’

He’s talking like you’re another defective shiny. Maybe you are. ‘Okay.’

‘Good.’

‘How do I talk to people again?’

‘Why can’t you?’

‘I feel like I’m going to scream. They’re all so... normal. They don’t understand.’

He nods. ‘I know they don’t. But that’s because you’re wrong. Not them. Keep that in mind.’

‘Okay.’ You don’t know what you’re feeling, but if it works, that’ll be an improvement. Right?

Right?

'They won't change, and you can't change them. None of this is going to ever change. So if you want to survive, you have to change yourself.'

It makes sense. 'I don't know how. I don't even know how I got here.'

'Just pretend then. Pretend that acting normal will save you, and it will.'

You've been trying to act normal, like nothing has changed, but you haven't been believing in it. Maybe that's the key. Maybe if anyone does read your mind they'll just see the belief.

'If you can just act normal enough,' Dogma says, 'They won't notice you. They won't notice a thing.'

You nod. You knew that already, but it feels good to have it confirmed. It feels more solid.

'Does that help?'

'Yeah,' you say. 'It does.'

'Good. I have to run drill practices with Niko. Find me later if you need more help.'

You nod, and remember something. 'I gotta help you kids too. You can act as normal as you can but if you can't lie for shit you'll be screwed the second someone's noticed you're up to something.'

Dogma bites his lip, and nods. 'Okay. In a couple days. Right now we don't have that much time before someone misses us.'

'Alright. I'll find you guys in a couple days.'

You leave and walk back to your bunkroom. It takes you a few moments to realise you're breathing hard.

The room is blessedly empty, so you sink onto your bunk and just try to breathe.

Dogma's right. Nothing about this is going to change except you. So your options are to do what he says, or kill yourself before they decommission you. And if you're just going to die-- then the alternative is worth a shot, isn't it? You can always change your mind.

You scrub at your face. It still sits with you wrong, the idea that you're the one in the wrong here, but Dogma has a point there too: the alternative is you being _right._

Your breath hitches and your shoulders shake. You don't cry again, don't spill any tears, but your face screws up like you want to. You bury your face in your hands and swallow the urge to whine out loud.

You're pathetic. And Dogma's right. You can do this. You have to.

You school your face and pose into relaxed sitting, leaning back against the wall of the bunk. This is too public of a place to be breaking down like that. It's only dumb luck you weren't caught just now. Dogma's right about that too. You have to be more careful.

Just breathe in. Breathe out. Pretend you're going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20 meters is the length of a giant squid and is in fact the only unit of measurement that i can visualise without aids


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~jizz~~

A couple days come and go and you’re busy, sooty, and blaster-singed, and by the time you get some time to yourself it’s in a new holdout base in a different part of the city. Still, you keep your word to the kids best you can, and after a sonic and some dinner go see if they’re skulking about.

They are. You catch some of their conversation before you enter, soundproofing here not what it was at the last place.

‘--not going to work, I’m not, I can’t do this--’ uneven tones that probably belong to Niko and a fist hitting the wall. ‘I’m fucked, Dogma. I can’t-- you aren’t going to be able to--’

You decide to head him off there before any other wise guys start lurking down this corridor. Niko full on yelps and jumps when you throw the door open, and Dogma snaps to attention.

‘Word of warning, kids,’ you say in an undertone, shutting the door behind you, ‘This place ain’t as soundproofed as the last.’

Niko’s eyes grow huge and he covers his mouth. Dogma looks equally startled. ‘As far as I could tell it was only me out there, but lesson one: keep your fucking voices down.’

They both nod, wide-eyed like cadets. ‘Lesson two, don’t stand there looking like stunned prey, and lesson three, Dogma, don’t stand at attention until you’ve actually seen a superior officer. It makes you look guilty.’ It’s also his face doing that, but you’ll get to that later.

Niko recovers first, surprisingly. Dogma puffs out a breath. He turns to Niko. ‘You got all that?’

‘Don’t look like stunned prey, don’t stand at attention.’

‘Don’t stand at attention if there’s no CO.’

‘That’s what I meant.’

‘And keep your voice down when we’re meeting here.’

‘Yeah. That too.’ He rubs the back of his neck and pulls at the short hairs there.

‘Good. You’re doing a good job keeping your voice down now.’ Dogma reaches over and bats Niko’s hand back down and gives him an affectionate hair touch when he looks contrite.

Not for the first time since you met him you wonder what the kid’s story is, but you’re not about to get into everything prying would entail right now. Dogma’s a lot easier to figure out, just a fucking goody two shoes and bleeding heart all at once, but you’d’ve thought it impossible for a defect to get off Kamino still breathing. You told them a lot about yourself already, though, so maybe you’ll ask later.

For now you sit down on the floor of the empty room and the others follow your lead. ‘So. I’m gonna teach you both how to lie. Might wind up a multi part lesson with how hopeless you kids are.’

Neither of them object, so you continue. ‘Y’all’s biggest problem currently is what your faces and voices are doing while you lie. It doesn’t matter what you say because I can read it straight off you. You’re too nervous. You’ve got to relax and deliver it like you deliver everything else. Remember how you told me, if I act normal enough nobody’s gonna notice? Well the same’s true for lying, you keep your voice casual as anything and people won’t be able to tell the difference.’ You’ve given this lesson some thought over the last few days, when you had thought to spare. It was a nice diversion. ‘It can help to come up with the lies before you say them. That’s how I keep my words under control. I plan them out so they don’t go anywhere I’m not expecting.’

They’re both hanging on your every word. It’s weird. Kinda flattering, but weird. ‘We’re gonna practice. I want you two to each come up with two simple statements. Nothing fancy. Short sentences. One of them is true, and one of them is a lie. You’re gonna try to say them the exact same way. Okay?’

Dogma nods. ‘Okay.’ Niko nods too.

‘Don’t spend too long thinking of them, you won’t have time to think when you’re lying to someone when it matters. Just tell me some statements as soon as you’re ready.’

Dogma’s ready first, and within a couple of seconds. ‘Captain Rex’s armor is red. Captain Rex’s armor is blue.’

‘See? You did a decent job there. But it’s a lot easier to lie about stuff that doesn’t affect you at all. Try saying something about yourself instead. I’ll try to guess the lie.’

Niko says, ‘I, um. Like caf better than I like tea. Or I like tea better than I like caf?’

‘Terrible. You’re a caf man. Try again. Don’t stutter. Even if you’re telling the truth, they’ll think you’re lying if you stutter.’

Dogma: ‘I like caf better. I like tea better.’

‘Another caf man. Little better. Try again.’

You put them through their paces for a good twenty minutes, learning increasingly more about their preferences for food, colours, and music. They’ll never play sabbac with the greats, but you at least get them confidently proclaiming how they love jizz and hate violet.

The jizz part gets a little silly. Just a little.

‘It’s a good start,’ you say, grinning at a blushing Dogma and slapping a still giggling Niko on the back. ‘I want you two to practice that when you get some time alone, okay? You don’t have to say the truth parts but I want you to practice saying lies as though they’re true.’

‘Yeah, okay,’ Dogma says, and Niko nods.

‘Good,’ you say, mimicking Dogma, and lean back on your hands. ‘There’s hope for you shinies yet.’

‘M’ not a shiny,’ Dogma protests, pouting enough to prove your point. ‘Got ink and everything.’

‘Sure, sure. Shiny.’

‘What about you?’

You know what he means. ‘What about me?’

‘You know. Have you talked to anybody?

He just wants to get the conversation off himself. You puff out a breath and think back. ‘Yeah. Your advice helped. I held half a conversation the other day.’ It was just some dumb chatter poking fun at the Seps, but still. The last few days have been mostly combat. It’s good and bad in equal parts. Bad because you’re still scared shitless of dying, trapped between laser fire and the thud of bodies, and good because combat is something you still know how to  _ do. _ Your training may have fucked itself to high heaven in so many ways, but you know how to handle yourself on a battlefield, which is arguably the important part.

‘Good,’ Dogma says.

You think about asking them about themselves for a moment, but decide against it. The last few days have been mostly combat. A couple guys like that-- you’re not gonna ask them to talk about it. They both seem whole.

At that you have to firmly shake yourself. You can’t start  _ caring _ about these hopeless cases. That’ll just end in heartbreak. Just because you’re not going to rat them out doesn’t mean someone else isn’t going to sooner or later.

Then why are you here?

_ Mutually assured destruction, _ you remember saying, and Dogma’s response:  _ like we have a choice. _

You can’t look at that one too closely. You’re only just learning to fly straight again. Maybe you don’t need a why.

‘Look, I’ll catch you guys later,’ you say, standing up.

They both get up too. Dogma nods. ‘See you round, Sergeant.’

‘See you,’ Niko says.

You nod and leave, all of a sudden very glad to be alone when you step into the empty hallway. You take a few deep breaths.

You’re not gonna look at any of this too closely. You’re not gonna look at anything too closely. You’re going to go have a smoke like a self-respecting soldier and hope no-one talks to you.

You’re down to your last three cigs. Supply runs have been thin for this deployment, and you’ve been needing them more than you used to. You keep them in a plastic bag in the pocket of your blacks where nobody can get away with nicking them, but you have to go back to your bunk for the lighter. You know from personal experience it’s not a great idea to keep highly flammable objects on your person. It’s just not.

You sigh as you light up, leaning against the wall in the hallway outside your bunkroom, closer to the commons now but hopefully out of the way enough to avoid conversation. You breathe in deep, let it fill up your lungs, try to calm your nerves. These are the drugs the Republic lets you have; there’s no immediate side effects, and you’ll all get shot to death long before the long-term side effects start to take their toll on your bodies. Fuck. You were trying not to think about anything.

You’re distracted from your failure by one of the members of your squad coming back to the barracks. It’s Gus. You still don’t know these guys too well; recent losses meant some major reshuffling happened in an effort to piece together whole squads from broken ones, as well as your impromptu promotion.

‘Hey, Sarge,’ Gus says, and you nod to him. He doesn’t take the hint. ‘Some day, huh? Just got back visiting Punch in medbay. Should be a quick heal, back in a couple days, doc says. You probably already knew that though, huh.’

Fuck. You hadn’t had a chance to check on Punch between touching base with the kids and just trying to gather yourself. You feel guilty about that. You grunt. Fuck, you should probably think of something to say. You’re supposed to live and die with these men. If anyone’s going to start noticing something’s up, it’s your squad. Maybe they’ll just think you’re grumpy, though. Maybe. Not like they’d be wrong. But you should still say something. ‘Uh. You get through it all okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine, just a little banged up.’ He holds up his arm to show you a bacta patch starting at his wrist and disappearing down his sleeve, and grins sheepishly, turning the gesture to scratching the back of his neck. You’re reminded of Niko.

You feel guilty again. Out there you get so focused on staying alive and keeping your squad alive you didn’t even notice Gus got hurt. You know Punch got hurt but you couldn’t say how or where. It’s all a blur of fear and shouting and moving on autopilot, things you don’t consciously think about but just know and do. You must be good at it, though, because they gave you a promotion. Still not good enough to manage to keep track of four specific bastards outside of knowing whether they’re still alive or not. ‘It’s doing okay then?’ That was probably too big of a pause to sound normal.

‘Yep, just stings a bit. Doc says it should be fine by morning.’

‘Good.’ You’re reminded of Dogma now. ‘You, um. Get some rest, okay, Gus?’

‘Will do Sarge.’

You nod and walk away in the direction Gus came from, grateful to find a way out of the conversation. The kids are already worming themselves into normal gestures and words-- but you’re not thinking about that. You aren’t thinking about anything.

The direction you walk leads you to the commons. Guys hanging around, chatting, some of them in blacks and some still in their shells, all buckets off, less cigarette smoke than you’d be used to due to everyone conserving their last packs. You get a few greetings and raise a hand in return, trying and mostly failing for a small smile. You keep walking straight through. You can’t deal with this right now.

You should probably just go to bed early at this rate, but instead you keep walking like you know where you’re going until you have to be faced with the fact that you don’t. At that point you stand at the end of an empty hallway and bury your face in your hands for a moment.

‘Sergeant?’

You almost jump like the kids do but catch yourself and just look around. It’s another one of the guys from your new squad, Jester. He’s wearing his shell, still shiny. It’s entirely possible it’s not Jester and instead is a different bloke with a goat patch and a flat-top, but what matters is he just caught your moment of weakness. ‘Are you alright?’ he asks.

‘I’m fine. Just already tired thinking about tomorrow. I gotta get my ass to bed.’

‘It’s been rough,’ he agrees, but you’re not sure he’s convinced. Shit. Dogma’s right. You can’t keep doing this.

‘You holding up alright?’

‘I’m fine. Better sight than Punch.’ This is Jester, then. You should really go check on Punch. It’s what a good sergeant would do, and you’re taking your best stab at pretending.

‘Yeah. I hear he’s gonna be better within the next few days, though, so that’s something.’ All patched up and ready to be tossed right back out to get hurt again. Fuck.

Jester nods. ‘You’re sure you’re alright, Sarge?’

‘Like I said. Just dead tired. I’m gonna check in on Punch and then I’m gonna go pass out and pray morning don’t come too quickly.’

‘I hear you.’

You ignore any further doubt there might be in that statement and walk past him in the direction of the medbay, heart pounding. Does he suspect anything? Is he going to tell anyone else?

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about anything. Thinking isn’t going to help you. Thinking is how you got into this mess.

The medbay isn’t as full as you were expecting, which might just mean fewer bastards survived this run, but you’re not thinking right now, so whatever. Punch has another visitor, a brother you don’t recognise. They’re talking, and they stop as you approach. Punch is upright, at least, sitting in bed and grinning as his friend breaks off from a fairly crude sounding story.

‘Don’t mind me,’ you say. ‘Just checking in with you, Punch.’

‘Hiya, Sarge. I’m doing alright. Doc just wants to keep me and make sure I don’t have an infection.’

There’s a lightness in his tone that doesn’t quite line up with Jester’s seriousness, but you’re not sure which of them has the right of it. Punch is shirtless, bandages down his arm, and he’s favouring it, gesturing with the other hand while he talks. You don’t know what happened and you don’t have it in you to admit you have to ask.

‘I have to thank you for pulling my ass out back there,’ Punch continues. ‘You probably saved my hide.’

You try to remember what he’s talking about. It takes a moment but you can, yanking a brother behind your makeshift barricade at the exact right second. You just didn’t know it was Punch. ‘Just doing my duty, keeping you sorry suckers out of the furnace.’ The word duty trips on your tongue. The whole sentence tastes like ash. You pretend that it didn’t, and it doesn’t.

‘I owe you one,’ he says.

His friend laughs. ‘He just told you you don’t have to worry about it, what are you doing, taking on extra debts.’ He punches him lightly in the good arm. Punch laughs.

‘You act like you don’t know me,  _ vod.’ _

Punch is smiling. For some reason your mouth still tastes like ashes. ‘I’m gonna hit the hay,’ you say. ‘Just wanted to check in.’

‘Sure thing, Sarge. Go rest up, you look half dead.’

Your heart pounds all the way back to your quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so writing this chapter was a bit of a comedy of errors
> 
> first i wrote like half the whole thing but because of a migraine (probably a migraine? my bodys been Fucked recently) i couldn't keep my eyes open without it hurting so i wrote it with my eyes closed;; i'm a decent touch typer so it just wound up with all the letters like one key to the left which my amazing SO helped me decode, only bc i wasn't looking i wound up on a different tab which didn't have any text entry zone so i was just typing and it didnt get saved, so i lost like 70% of what i wrote, and i couldn't remember enough to recreate it in a way that wasn't forced XD lost a kinda cute scene but dont worry itll come up again later
> 
> so then i just rewrote the chapter and also spent a while thinking about clone culture which im gonna have fun with later on but also like i was looking up the organisation of the GAR and according to like every wiki a squad is 9 troops + a sergeant (which btw i CANNOT fucking spell im always like seargent sargeant seargant) but WHEN have we fucking seen a 10 man squad??? theyre all fucking 5 or 6;;; its so maddening. so i made it officially 5 in this because of domino squad which means i had to cut 1 member from slick's canon squad so i picked sketch, he's still here though just in a different squad.
> 
> anyway that was my last two days basically


	3. Chapter 3

The next day Captain Rex approaches you in the hall. You just got done helping set up the remaining scanners, and you’re sweaty from the direct summer sunlight, but a part of you freezes when he hails you.

‘Sergeant Slick. Got a minute?’

You nod, vaguely. You can feel your heart in your throat and hear your blood pumping in your ears. The world is spinning. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You can’t find your voice.

The captain takes you into an empty side room. There’s so many empty rooms here. It’s an abandoned municipal building, or something. It’s just empty.

He shuts the door. The noise ripples like you can see it in the air. The air is thick and hot even indoors, and right now you can’t seem to breathe.

‘Listen. You look like death paled over.’ The captain’s talking in a low, calm, worried voice. He pulls his bucket, like you already had yours off to recover from the heat. You have to take a moment to reconcile what you were expecting to hear with what you just did. You can’t look him in the face, but you do, and he looks worried. ‘And I’m not the only one who’s said it. Your men are worried. You’ve been sneaking off during communal times, sleeping too much-- what’s going on?’

You take a moment to take all that in. He doesn’t know anything yet. Or if he is he’s not letting it on. Fuck. Fuck everything. Fuck this stupid war. Fuck Jester who was probably the one who narced and fuck Captain Rex and his stupid worried brown eyes probably hiding a search for an excuse to court-martial your ass and fuck his stupid bleached hair and his stupid stripes on his stupid armor. You may be crying. You hope to fuck you’re not crying.

You don’t know how you do it, but there’s a part of you that knows how to act under pressure. It’s the same part that keeps you and your squad alive on the battlefield when you can’t even begin to start processing it consciously.

Fortunately, it’s also the part that knows how to do what you do best: lie through your teeth.

You wipe your sweaty forehead with the back of your hand. ‘I’m sorry, Captain. Some of the shinies-- look, we’ve lost a lot of people this campaign. It’s hard on all of us. I, I didn’t think it was against the regs at all, I wouldn’t’ve started it if I did, w-we just wanted to do it in private--’ You have no idea what you’re fucking saying, you’re talking too fast, you’re just fucking running your mouth and letting your autopilot handle the rest. Your breath catches in your throat. This has to work. It can’t be your fault the kids get caught.

‘Calm down, Slick. What have you been doing?’

You puff out a breath, trying to catch some air, any air. ‘Practice.’

‘Practicing what?’

‘A-- as in spiritual practice.’ Fuck, don’t stutter, don’t stutter, don’t stutter. Some force of the universe has blessed you with an idea for a lie and you are not going to fucking fuck it up by stuttering. ‘The  _ jetiise--  _ back on Kamino, I-- I remember hearing General Ti talking about their “force.” It’s not just them having superpowers, she was talking about how it connects all of them with every other living thing, even us.’ You’re still talking too fast, no handle on the direction this lie is going, praying to anything it works. You’re barely cognisant of what you’re doing, of anything you’re saying.

‘I know. Skywalker’s talked about it.’

Holy fuck. Is it working? There’s a very tight feeling behind the bridge of your nose. Please to anyone out there let it be working. Remember what you told the kids. Say it as though it’s the truth. ‘Right. So, I just thought... if it can help the Jedi stay safe, all those miracles they perform, then maybe we could pray to it to keep our brothers safe. If nothing else it’s worth a shot. Makes the shinies feel better, like they’re doing something when they can’t do anything else. Makes me feel better too, to be honest.’

The captain claps your shoulder. You don’t jump, though it feels like your heart is about to jump out of your skin. Instead you just look at him earnestly. How you manage to school your face right now you’ll never know. ‘You’re a good man, Slick,’ he says. ‘Thanks for looking after our  _ vode. _ There’s nothing in the regs against it. But you’ve got to take better care of yourself. You’re a good soldier, too. We need you.’

‘Sorry, sir. I guess it’s the stress.’ That part at least is true.

‘Yeah, that’s cause you’re taking on others’ too. I want you to go to medbay and let them check you over. Do what the doctor says. You have my permission to continue your little congregation. But you look like you're going to pass out, Slick.’ It’s not a surprise, you feel like you’re going to pass out. ‘You been drinking at all?'

'No.' That's the truth as well; as much as you'd like to spend most of these days sloshed off your face you'd need to actually talk to someone to get in on the stash of contraband booze always in circulation. You sip at the air, wondering if you can stop yourself feeling lightheaded by sheer force of will. 'Too busy.'

He raises an eyebrow, but seems to believe you. He claps you on the shoulder.

‘Get yourself to medical, Slick.’

‘Yes, sir.’ 

You watch him leave the room, the sound of the closing door echoing in the silence. The room is spinning. Holy fuck. You can’t believe that worked. Someone out there really is looking out for you, whether it really is the force, or just sheer dumb luck, especially since your body waits until that moment to make you drop to your knees. You gasp at the air, trying to get enough just to breathe. Brief images come to mind of what would have happened if he hadn’t believed you, to you, to the kids, but you bat them away. You can’t think about that. Not now. Not ever. Instead you bury your face in your hands and just try to breathe.

It takes you a while to be well enough to pick yourself up and walk over to medical. It’s still mostly vacant. You flag down the medic.

‘What the fuck have you been doing?’ he asks, and makes you sit down. You open your mouth to answer but you used up all your lie juice for today.

He gives you a look. ‘Just... stressed,’ you manage.

‘Mmnhmmn.’ His eyes scrape over you in a way that almost manages to make you feel ashamed of yourself. Almost. He started checking your vitals the second you were sitting, hands brisk and firm. ‘Sure big boy.’

That actually makes you snort. Everything you went through today, and this lameass joke out of nowhere -- because of course his shoulders are just as broad as yours -- feels like half ray of sunlight and half strangulation. For the first time it occurs to you to wonder what exactly is happening to you. You had been running on the assumption that you had just finally fucking cracked. Eh, that’s probably still the case.

‘Have you been eating full meals?’ the medic asks.

You sigh. ‘No.’

‘For how long?’

‘About two, three tendays.’

‘How’s your sleep?’

‘I’ve been getting enough of it.’ It hasn’t been great, you’ve been restless, waking up during your allotted sleep cycles. But you’ve definitely been getting enough rest, because even waking up from a nightmare you don’t want to waste the time where you can just lie quietly in the dark and breathe with nobody questioning it. Tiredness hasn’t been a problem.

‘How much?’

‘Uh. At least four hours a cycle, probably.’

‘So you’re not oversleeping either.’

‘No.’ The captain said you had been, but like last night you’ve just been going to bed earlier to avoid having to talk to people, and you’re pretty good at feigning sleep.

‘Drinking?’

‘No.’

He raises his eyebrows.

‘For real. I smoke.’

‘Have you noticed any performance hits?’

‘Not really. I do everything I need to all day and I haven’t made very many mistakes.’ You aren’t enjoying being questioned, but it’s at least things you can answer easily without having to lie. It’s just physical stuff. He’s not prying.

‘Anything out of the ordinary with your body? Headaches?’

Okay, here’s the part where you have to lie. You let out a breath. ‘Headaches, yeah.’ It’s true, but you’re not going to mention how every time you get scared you can’t breathe. Headaches are a normal side effect of stress. This is just stress. That’s all it is. If you believe it, maybe it’ll start being true, just like Dogma said.

‘How bad of headaches?’

‘Not bad. Like I said, no performance hits. Just a dull ache.’

‘How frequently?’

You lie again. ‘Not every day. Every other, or every couple, maybe.’

He tilts your face by your jaw assessingly. You give him a look. He laughs. You snort and roll your eyes. ‘You’re okay, honey. You need to start eating more, finish your portions, and avoid stimulants.’

‘You can’t be asking me to give up caf. People will die if I give up caf.’ You don’t think you’re exaggerating.

‘One cup of caf a day max, no stims, nothing else caffeinated, and no more than one cigarette. I assume you’re running out anyway like the rest of us.’

‘I am.’

‘Unluckily for you we’re also running low on drugs over here, so we’re gonna see if just changing your behavior is gonna help before I prescribe anything. Do you have anger problems, baby?’

‘Do I have... what?’ The pet name distracts you.

‘Are you angry a lot of the time?’

‘No. Just stressed, like I said.’

‘What do you get stressed about?’

You shrug, uncomfortable. ‘We’re in a war zone, ain’t we. Any guy I talk to today could be dead tomorrow.’ You feel like you’re being cornered into a trap somehow.

‘You have friends?’

‘What?’

‘Do you have friends. You need your hearing checked, big guy?’

‘No, I’m... yeah. I have friends.’ Sort of. You think of the kids. You don’t know if you would call them friends otherwise, but they sure make a convenient excuse.

‘Spend more time with them.’

You look up at him, startled. ‘Why?’

‘Because you need to relax, silly. You’re afraid of losing them.’ His hand is on your shoulder. It’s warm. Your vision is tunneling. ‘And you’re afraid because you  _ like _ them. You care about them, you like spending time with them. That why? Tells me you’re pulling away. That won’t help them, and it won’t protect them. Chances are, they care about you too. And we’re pack animals, sweetie. You aren’t doing yourself any favours cutting yourself off.’

Your hands are shaking. ‘I’m gonna go check on my other patients now,’ he says. ‘You flag me down again if you need anything.’ He pats your shoulder before walking away.

You can’t move. For a few moments you can’t think, either. Then something in you snaps back in place.

One cup of caf a day, no more than one cig a day, finish your portions. That you can do.

You stand up, abruptly enough to startle yourself, and leave, not sure of where you’re going. When you realise walking with purpose will not in fact give you a purpose out of nowhere you go back to the barracks.

Chopper is there, sitting alone. He looks up when you come in. ‘Sarge.’

There’s something in his tone other than normal greeting, but you can’t really bring yourself to think about it. You just can’t stay here if he’s here. ‘I’m just for a sonic,’ you say, getting your soap from your kit. ‘Been sweating up a storm setting scanners up, it’s hotter than Skywalker’s ass out there.’

He smiles weakly at the joke, and nods. You leave.

The sonics are about as private as you can get without sneaking off on your own, which you’re glad for. Your vision is doubling up on the edges, making it hard to focus on anything, and there’s a sort of darkness behind it, things not quite the colours they should be. You close your eyes instead. Your mind tries to form coherent thoughts and fails and lets them crumble away.

One cup of caf a day, no more than one cig a day, finish your portions. Pretend that acting normal will save you, and it will.

Good soldiers follow orders.

You bury your face in your hands. Some sort of battle is taking place within you. You can’t name the combatants, you just know you’re the battleground. And you know what shapes they take, even if you don’t want to. On one side is you. On the other side is-- everything.

You clamp a hand over your mouth and scream into it, press hard enough so no noise escapes. Maybe you should just kill yourself and get it over with. You bet dying feels a hell of a lot better than what you’re feeling right now.

You take too long in the sonic, mind popping blank and black, and then you go get some lunch. You greet people with a raise of your hand and a friendly smile. Captain Rex nods to you in passing, and you nod back. You finish your portion.

You don’t know what you’re doing, and you don’t know why. You feel like someone else is running the show, and you’re already dead and just watching some other fucker drive your body around. You play cards with a few guys you’ve seen around base, and laugh at their jokes, and at the fact that one of them is named Eggnog. You even crack a few of your own.

After that you’re all told to stop lazing around and are put on stock duty, and you don’t mind it. You realise dimly you can’t remember a single word you said around the card table. A single word any of them said. One of them had a stupid name, you think. Maybe. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. You overhear some guys talking about the supplies starting to run low, but you don’t really care. Stocking doesn’t take that long, so you make yourself useful in the armory.

You think maybe you lost that battle.

All of a sudden you’re back in your body again, frozen midway through loading power packs to be recharged. The world is shaking. You can’t breathe.

God, you don’t want to be decommissioned.

You do the only thing you can think of, and finish up your work and go find Dogma. It takes a while to find him; you finally catch him just as Cougar Company comes in and makes the whole place a lot more crowded.

‘Got a minute?’ You ask him, talking under the noise, mimicking the Captain from earlier.

‘Yeah.’ He looks at you, big brown expressive eyes, and you gesture with your head. The two of you slip off together and find an empty room.

‘What’s going on?’ he asks, keeping his voice down.

‘I don’t know,’ you say, and find you have to double over onto your knees just to breathe. ‘I’m losing it, Dogma. The captain noticed.’ You can’t see his face doubled over like this, but you can imagine what it looks like, stricken with worry. You shut your eyes.

‘The captain-- what did he say?’ He sounds so alarmed, hissing with it as he tries to keep quiet. You could almost laugh. All this, just for you.

‘Asked me what was going on. Said I looked terrible, and that some of the guys noticed too, and that they noticed I’d been sneaking off.’ You know he’s just opened his mouth to freak out, so you continue, ‘I saved it. Told him we were doing religious practice like I’ve seen the  _ jetiise _ do. He said it was fine.’

‘Oh my god...’

‘You guys are fine. Just pretend to be praying to the force or whatever if anyone comes in. It’s the other part, Dogma, I’m falling apart. I can’t keep it together. Everyone says I look like death warmed up.’

‘You do look like death warmed up.’

You can’t tell if that’s snark or earnestness and choke on a laugh. ‘Help me. You said I could come to you if I needed more help.’ You hate how pathetic your voice sounds, whining like you’re a cadet again. You can’t help it.

He’s quiet for a moment. You can hear him breathing. ‘Okay. Tell me the whole story.’

You sigh, and feel yourself sit down on the ground. ‘Captain Rex talked to me, like I said. I covered up for you two and told him I was just stressed. He sent me to medical.’

‘Okay.’ He doesn’t sit down too. You can hear his voice above you.

‘So I went to medical. Doc tells me to eat full meals and only one cup of caf a day. Then...’ you trail off, your mind failing you.

‘Then what?’

You try to think of a reply, but can’t. ‘Then what, Slick?’ You hear him sit down.

‘I... I don’t know.’ You do, vaguely, but you can’t put words to it. Can’t make yourself look at it directly.

Dogma’s breath hitches. You open your eyes. Kid looks terrified. ‘It’s gonna be okay, Slick,’ he says. ‘I’ll help you figure it out. I can do this.’

You’re so dazed you can’t quite follow what he’s on about. ‘What..?’

‘Do you know where you are?’

‘Uh. Yeah.’

‘What’s your designation?’

‘CT-9983.’ You realise what he’s doing. ‘Dogma, it’s not like that. I know where I am.’

He nods, still looking dead scared. ‘Okay. You just can’t remember what happened after you went to medbay?’

‘I can remember, I, I know I did it, I just... don’t know what happened.’

He swallows. ‘Okay. It’s gonna be okay. We just need to get you passing as normal again. You said you haven’t been eating?’

‘I have, just not full meals.’ You feel kind of lost in the scene. This is all so surreal.

‘Okay, well, you should eat full meals and only have one cup of caf like the medic said. Do you know if he said anything else?’

‘Uh. Only one cig a day. No stims.’

‘That too then.’

‘He said I was... too stressed...’ You blink at the floor. How did you end up looking at the floor? You try looking back up at Dogma. That sure is Dogma alright, tattoo furrowed with his brow. You feel woozy.

‘Stay with me, Slick. What do you do to relax?’

‘Uh. I don’t.’

‘You don’t relax? Ever?’

‘N... no?’ It seems like the wrong answer, but you can’t think of the right one.

_ ‘Haar’chak,’ _ he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Okay. We were having fun yesterday. That stupid thing about jizz, remember?’

‘I remember.’

‘You were laughing. You looked happy.’

You nod. Now that he mentions it, you can remember the scene exactly, how it looked, and sounded, even how that room smelled faintly of mildew. You can remember yourself laughing. Was it yesterday? It feels like a lifetime ago. That’s cliche, isn’t it? It feels cliche. ‘The medic wanted me...’

You trail off. Dogma looks at you expectantly. ‘Yes?’

Nope, you lost the plot again. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I’m going to go ask him about it.’

Alarm fills you. ‘You can’t, Dogma, if they figure out what’s happening they’ll decommission me--’ You grab onto his arms to stop him from getting up.

‘I won’t say that part. I’ll just say you’re my friend and I want to know how to help you.’

‘Please, Dogma, no--’ you shake your head, terrified. ‘No, no, no, please--’

‘Slick! It’s going to be okay! It’s not against the regs to ask how to help your friend. I won’t even tell him I talked to you yet.’

‘Fuck, you can’t lie, you stupid bastard--’ you blink a lot and realise you’re crying. How have you been crying so much lately? You don’t cry. You never cry. ‘Fuck, fucking, fuck you.’ You shake his arms in case that’ll get him to see sense. ‘Fuck you and the fucking ass speeder you flew in on.’ His arms are stronger than they should be. They’re not shaking.

‘Slick, you’re losing it. You came to me to help you, right? Slick. Slick, look at me.’

It takes you a couple moments to register the command. You look in his face. It’s gone all motion blurry and moving in and out.

‘Slick. Listen to me. I know what I’m doing. I’m going to help you. But you need to let go of me.’

‘You...’

‘Slick.’ It’s a warning voice that reminds you of being a cadet again. You suddenly realise you are a grown ass man sitting on the floor gripping onto another grown ass man for reasons you no longer remember. You let go of him.

‘Good.’ He reaches over and touches your hair. It’s surreal, but it feels nice. ‘Slick, listen to me. I have a job for you.’ He pauses, giving you a chance to interrupt him. The room has stopped spinning, which is nice. You don’t interrupt him. ‘I need you to put your helmet back on, walk back to your bunkroom, and pretend to take a nap. Do you understand?’

You don’t think you do at first, trying to grasp at what he just said. ‘Wh- what?’

‘Okay. Repeat after me. Put your helmet back on.’

‘Put my helmet back on.’

‘Then walk to your bunkroom.’

‘Then walk to my bunkroom.’

‘Then pretend to take a nap.’

‘Then pretend to take a nap.’

‘Repeat it all back to me.’

‘Put my helmet back on. Walk to my bunkroom. Pretend to take a nap.’

‘Good. Can you do that?’

‘Yes.’ It’s simple now, laid out for you like that. If this is all you have to do, life is easy. Life is wonderful. You put your helmet on and stand up.

‘Good,’ Dogma says again, so you execute step two, walking to your bunkroom.

The hallways are more crowded than usual for some reason. You’re not the only guy with his bucket on, which strikes you as important. You walk back to your bunkroom.

Now you have to pretend to take a nap. That requires more substeps. First you have to take off your armor. You stand by your bunk and do that.

‘What’s up, Sarge?’ Gus asks. You didn’t notice him.

‘Taking a nap.’

‘Alright, I’ll get out so you can catch a few.’

‘Thanks.’ You answer on autopilot. There was something earlier, about autopilot...

You finish taking off your armor. The next step is to lie down on your bunk and get under the covers. You do those things. It’s hot in here, so you kick the covers off again. You don’t need covers to convincingly pretend to nap. Do you? Oh, fuck, do people nap without covers?

Yes. People nap without covers. You’re fine.

The next step is to close your eyes and breathe deeply like you’re sleeping. You know it’s easier to pretend to sleep when you’re facing the wall. You’re facing the wall already. You just need to close your eyes and breathe deeply.

You close your eyes, and breathe deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so like in this one i accidentally posted [this picture](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/81ZOPPk3Z2L._AC_UL1500_.jpg) between rex leaving the room and slick having a fucking panic attack
> 
> i was............... very excited about this frog hat earlier today i got too excited and had to lie down (yes i bought it)
> 
> also, slick's ID is from [lylek squad by flamethrower!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5471609/chapters/12645086) it's a good fic and gave me some cool headcanons! i like it a lot!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a non-explicit sex scene in this chapter. once i get done posting this i'm gonna update the tags and warnings at the beginning.
> 
> [also i drew slick :3](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/402490054364102676/741890021971197972/Him.png)  
> 

You wake to a dark room and the sound of even breathing. For a few moments you just lie there, looking at the underbelly of the bunk above yours. You feel real. The world feels tangible. You breathe in and out.

Some things sure happened yesterday. You can remember them clearer than you understood them while they were happening. You don’t feel like running review, though, so you just pinch the bridge of your nose and screw your eyes shut. The gesture reminds you of Dogma. You feel a headache coming on. You wonder if the bastard’s awake right now. You don’t know what you’d say if you found him.

Fuck. What are you gonna do, Slick. You can’t go on like this. Someone’s going to notice more than they’re already noticing, and you’re going to get in trouble. You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to think.

Okay, Dogma’s right, you need to act normal. In order to act normal, you need to keep yourself stable and healthy enough that people won’t be able to tell what’s up just by looking at you. That’s step one.

You don’t know how to make that happen as fast as you need it to. But you at least have a start in following the doctor’s orders: full meals, minimal stimulants, and time with your friends.

Fuck.

You go back to staring at the bunk above yours. Dogma and Niko are the only two people who could even come close to being counted as your friends. Maybe that’s unfair, after yesterday. Dogma deserves better than a maybe your friend. You don’t really know Niko at all, but if the kid’s going through anything like what you are, he deserves better too.

Maybe you deserve better. You don’t know.

You end up getting up to piss, anyway, and look at yourself in the mirror after you wash your hands. Yeah, okay. You look like shit.

‘What are you gonna do, Slick?’ you mutter. You look over your own face. You need to shave. You can probably leave it for now. Stubble’s not a bad look.

You wind up shaving anyway, because it’s the only thing you have resembling a goal right now. A couple guys pass you on their ways to the fresher and you ignore them. You nick yourself on the cheek. It’s not bad, just a little line of red that beads up again when you wipe it away. You sigh.

What are you gonna do, Slick.

You think distantly of how you got here. The terrifying spiral of realisations. You don’t think you can afford to go down that rabbit hole right now. You almost bury your face in your hands, like that’ll somehow help you hide, but you can’t. You’re in public. You can’t risk any more slips. Instead you just stare at yourself in the mirror, clean shaven now, blood trickling down your cheek. It doesn’t make you look any more sane. You catch your own thousand yard stare.

Fuck.

You missed dinner so you hit the mess and finish what they give you quickly, finding it suddenly a chore to eat and to sit by yourself. It’s still your sleep cycle, but you don’t think you can stand being alone with your thoughts right now, so when you finish you go to supply and see if they can put you to work. They can’t; no new shipments. You hate helping in the mess, hate getting food and gunk under your nails deep enough that you can’t quite scrub it out and smelling like six lunches at once. Volunteering for cleaning duty would almost be more suspicious than anything else you’ve been caught at the last few days. So instead you go to command to see what else around base needs doing.

Of course Captain Rex is there, and nobody else is. Of course. He notices you before you can slip away. ‘Sergeant. Isn’t it your sleep cycle?’

You have no idea how he knows that. You have a hard enough time keeping track of four people who have the exact same schedule as you. ‘Passed out before dinner, got my full five. Don’t worry, I ate just now. Just figured I might as well be useful while I’m waiting for my squad to wake up.’

‘You have blood on your face.’

‘Cut myself shaving.’

He snorts. ‘Fine, keep an eye on those scanners for me.’

This really wasn’t what you had in mind, a bead of panic beating in your throat at being stuck in such close proximity to your CO, but it’s too late to back out now. You sink into a chair and regard the wall of screens. ‘What am I looking for, sir?’

‘Anything incoming. Keep an eye on the general comm for me, too.’

‘Alright.’ You turn the dial to put the general comm channel on low volume, listen to the static. Not much chatter right now. The captain is doing something on his datapad, feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on the edge of the holotable. He’s in his shell, helmet on the ground by his chair. ‘What’d the doc say?’ he asks without looking up.

You knew this was coming. ‘Too much caf, not enough to eat, apparently.’

He snorts. ‘And the stress?’

For the first time it occurs to you to wish supplies weren’t running so damn low. Maybe then the medic would have just drugged you and had done with it. You grunt. ‘All work and no play makes Slick a fucked out boy.’

He snorts again. ‘So you’re here, working.’

‘Everyone I know is asleep. Besides, Captain, you may have noticed we’re in a war zone.’

‘Don’t give me that. You have time for a card game. What about your church buddies? Shinies come off the griddle with more and more creative ways to pass the time, I swear.’

‘You sound like an old man.’

‘Back in my day all we did was play 52 pickup and use each other for target practice.’ He does possibly the stupidest fake-crotchety voice you’ve ever heard, and you laugh despite yourself. He grins.

‘Fuck.’ You facepalm and break into another bout of laughing. ‘Fuck you.’

He chuckles. ‘Maybe later, Sarge.’

You roll your eyes and look back at your scanners. There’s nothing incoming. Even the animals don’t stick around once the bombing starts. There’s a decent chance he just gave you this job to trap you here. You puff out a breath.

Another brother comes in, fortunately, but unfortunately it’s Captain Ceyda of Cougar Company. You haven’t met her before, but you’re not so far out of it to not know who she is. You watch her from the corner of your eye as she pulls her bucket and kicks a chair over to sit with Rex. She has a little ponytail pulled at the back of her undercut. You hear Skywalker’s loose on the regs with ranking officers. Lucky bastards. ‘Cap’n,’ she says, swallowing half the syllables. ‘Any news?’

‘Not a dickie bird.’ He draws it out, tone mocking his own turn of phrase.

‘Who’s this?’

You stop pretending you’re not watching them instead of the screens. ‘CT-9983,’ you introduce yourself. ‘Sergeant Slick.’

She sketches a salute with two fingers. She has an impressively detailed tattoo going along the left side of her face of fish and water flowers in a river pouring from the mouth of a skull. The little triangle under her eye that marks her as one of the _dalyc’vode_ is hidden skillfully as a petal. ‘Sergeant. This asshole got you doing his job for him?’

‘Kid needed busy work,’ Rex says, still not looking up from his datapad. ‘That’s what you get for sleeping at the wrong time like a _di’ku’tika._ ’

You roll your eyes. ‘He just wants to look at my pretty face.’

She snorts. ‘I’m inclined to believe the _vod’ika, vod._ I know how hot you find shaving cuts.’

He throws an empty cup at her. She laughs. You rub at the congealed blood on your face. _Dalyc'vode_ always make you feel self conscious for some reason. Maybe it's just because you've never had a lady friend proper, and they're a lot fewer and farther between than the rest of you schmucks. You very much hope you're not blushing.

There’s a beep on one of the scanners and you quickly look. ‘Incoming--’

‘I see it.’ The captains have both gotten to their feet. At the same time you hear the telltale click of someone coming on the general comms and reach over to turn up the volume ‘--eyes on Skywalker, approved clearance codes, coming in from the southeast--’

‘Copy,’ Rex says into his wrist comm. He sits back down. ‘Fuckin Skywalker. Hope he has good news.’

You wonder if now would be an okay time to excuse yourself. You grasp at a way to ask it that isn’t immediately suspicious, finding no purchase and instead only your heart pounding in your ears. You can’t be in the same room as the general. You will quite possibly literally die. You stand up. ‘I’m gonna clear out. Let you higher ups all talk without me.’

‘Bye, cutie,’ Ceyda says, and laughs when Rex punches her in the arm.

‘Fucking cougar.’

‘Oh, _hiss-terical._ Like I’ve never heard that one _befur._ You’re gonna have to be _cattier_ than that--’

You make a hasty escape. Or at least, you intend to; before you hit the doorway it opens and General Skywalker is there.

You take a few quick steps backwards out of his way, back to your seat at the scanners, your vision tunnelling. He fills the room, immediately, half a foot taller than a brother but smaller in the shoulders and drawing all the focus to him in a way you never, ever could. He makes the room bigger and brighter just for being in it. You can barely hear over the rushing of blood in your ears. However well today, tonight, _whatever_ seemed to be going, you can feel it all shattering now before him. You’re going to get made. You’re done for.

All you can do is watch, stunned, as Skywalker slams his speeder helmet down on the holotable and puffs some of his overlong hair out of his face. ‘Bad news, sir?’ Rex asks, casual as anything. You hate him.

‘Fucking _Ventress--_ How many fucking times does she turn up while I’m trying to get a normal fucking mission done, but the second I try to find her, _nooooo--’_ He rolls his eyes. ‘And it’s hot as balls out. It’s fucking nighttime, it’s not fair.’

He’s enunciating like a fucking teenager. Rex is snickering. ‘Poor baaaby,’ Ceyda teases, laughing. You wonder if you can die from whiplash. You want to weep. You want him to just kill you already.

You remember something, found inside of you like the smallest glimmer of hope. If you believe you’re normal, maybe that’s all the Jedi will see. The belief.

You proceed to have an internal scramble to top all internal scrambles. ‘Y’all better have some good news for me,’ Skywalker says, plopping down in a chair.

‘Well, we don’t have bad news,’ Ceyda says.

‘We’re running out of everything, especially drugs, we lost a solid quarter of Torrent including a handful in the medbay due to aforementioned lack of drugs, clearing the next sector isn’t going to be any easier, and Ventress knows where we live,’ Rex says. Ceyda hits him.

‘Not as many losses for Cougar, General. Only eight men. We cleared our sector easy enough.’

‘I hate you, Ceyda.’

‘He’s right, though, next one’s gonna be a toughie. We’ve got some recon, still waiting on the rest.’

Skywalker doesn’t seem to have noticed you, listening to the captains. You are believing as hard as your pathetic little brain can manage. You’re normal. You’re normal. You’re normal. It’s just like Dogma said. You’re normal. You can be normal.

You wonder if you can slip out while nobody’s paying any attention to you, but Skywalker is still mostly in front of the door. You could leave, but everyone would definitely notice.

All of a sudden Skywalker turns his head and looks at you. It’s as though a very bright spotlight just hit you. ‘Hey, this guy got clearance?’

‘That’s Slick,’ Rex says. ‘And no, I think you cornered him, sir.’

He smiles, dazzlingly, eyes closed as he breathes a laugh. ‘Sorry, Slick. Don’t worry, I don’t bite.’

‘You don’t bite in public,’ Ceyda murmurs, and Skywalker cheerfully gives her a shove while not taking his eyes off you.

‘As I say.’

Your face must be doing something. You have no idea what your face is doing. Oh fuck, what if he read your mind? Fuck fuck fuck fuck-- ‘I’ll, uh. Be going.’

You scoot out of the room in what is probably the least dignified manner possible, but you don’t have control of your fucking faculties. You start walking immediately, some instinctual part of you putting as much space as possible between you and Skywalker without actually going AWOL. You’re in your bunkroom on the other side of the base lying stiffly in bed before you realise where you’re actually going.

You stare at the bunk above yours and try to breathe. Your every muscle is held so tight it feels impossible. You can barely even blink.

Bit by bit you force yourself to relax, until you can breathe deeply again. The pose still feels forced and tense, but at least you’re not lying there like a rifle somebody tucked in.

Skywalker.

That’s the only coherent thought you’re able to have for the next who the fuck knows how long. It passes in a blur, your mind just turning off for all of it except for occasional in-depth notices of the sensory detail around you.

Well, fuck.

When you’re able to think again it’s with a bright beast in the corner eclipsing every thought. You don’t know what you’re going to do. What if he saw something about you? You couldn’t look at him directly, like bright sunlight. What if--

What if--

Before you know what you’re doing you’ve gotten out of bed again. You’re going to go find Dogma. Like usual it’s like your body has acted before your brain has caught up, some part of you knowing what you need to do before you’ve even consciously realised it.

You go back out into the hallway. You don’t know what squad Dogma’s in, or if it’s his sleep cycle right now. You start walking.

He’s not in the commons, but you run into him down a hallway. ‘Sergeant! I was just looking for you.’

You’re taken aback by your good luck. ‘Hey,’ you breathe.

‘Let’s go talk.’

You let him lead you to an empty room. It’s a small one, barely more than a closet. ‘I talked to the medic,’ he says.

You’re cut off mid thought. ‘You-- what?’

‘I told the medic I had a friend who was really stressed out and I wanted to know how to help him. He figured out it was you. It’s okay, Slick. He was really nice about it. You’re not in trouble.’ He has his hand on your upper arm.

You blink vacantly. ‘Wh-- what?’

‘I talked to the medic, and you’re not in trouble. Do you understand?’

‘Wh--’ You try to grasp what he’s saying, and find it’s not that hard once you reorient your brain to it. ‘Right. Okay, yeah.’ Why would the medic get you in trouble? You’re missing something.

‘He said you’d been self-isolating and to tell you to knock it off.’

It feels like a slap in the face for some reason. ‘You...’ He’s blurring in and out, a couple of him overlapping.

‘Slick, look at me.’

You try to look at him. He’s still blurry. You furrow your brow.

‘Slick. Focus on me. Focus on my face.’

You concentrate and make the multiple Dogmas in front of you line up. You can see his face, his serious eyes.

‘Good.’ He touches your hair. The sensation grounds you, something real. You swallow.

‘Slick, listen to me. The medic says you’re spending too much time alone. So you’re going to spend more time with us, okay? We can have meals together and hang out in the commons.’

You recognise the meaning of the words, but they feel distant, like this can’t be your life. Somebody else should be Sergeant Slick. You should be like, dead or something.

‘Do you understand?’

‘Yeah.’ You do, all of a sudden, putting the meaning and the words together. ‘Wait, no-- Dogma, we can’t be friends.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because--’ panic is filling your chest, pressing against your lungs. ‘You’re going to die.’

‘We’re all going to die.’

‘That’s why I don’t have friends.’

‘Slick that is why you are _going insane._ Do you know how long the regs say you’re allowed to keep one of us in isolation as a punishment?’

You’re having trouble connecting the dots. ‘No.’

‘Three days. Any longer is defined as cruel and unusual. In the event that a trooper needs to be isolated for medical or safety purposes, they are supposed to have other troopers visible to them at all times.’

‘Do you have the fucking regs memorised..?’

‘Yes! Don’t change the subject! You told me you couldn’t talk to other people. How long has that been going on for?’

‘I... don’t know.’

He bites his lower lip and looks like he’s praying for patience. You still haven’t caught up with why anything in this conversation is happening the way it is. ‘When’s the last time you were friends with someone?’

You think back, and then you hit a certain point, and then you very much stop thinking back. ‘When I was six.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Ten.’

‘Okay, first of all, stop calling me kid, we’re the same age.’

‘I’m almost eleven. I think.’ That seems about right. You’ve been in this war for several months at least.

‘Not the point! You are now friends with me and Niko.’

‘What? No, I can’t--’

‘What you can’t do is keep doing this! Slick, I know you outrank me. But you came to me for help. This is how I’m helping you.’

‘Then maybe I don’t need your help.’

‘Fine! I don’t know why I’m trying so hard in the first place when you’re so dedicated to self-destruction!’

You’ve lost his face again, and also the plot. You flounder vaguely for what you were even talking about.

‘I’m doing my best to save your ass from decommission, but if you don’t want to survive, there’s nothing I can do to fix that,’ he hisses.

You have no idea of what’s happening or what he’s talking about or why you’re in a cupboard or really anything that’s happened in the last couple months of your life. You wanna go get fucked. Maybe drunk. That seems like a lot better plan than standing here with an angry man in a broom closet, so you leave.

You feel Dogma’s eyes burning a hole in the back of your head as you walk away. You know there’s things you’re supposed to be addressing. You know some part of you knows what those things are. But you don’t want to think about that. You want to go get smashed in most definitions possible, and then maybe sleep for the rest of your remaining sleep cycle.

You go back to your bunk. Your squadmates are all still asleep. You get your kerchief and a bottle of lube and put both in your pocket. You’re going to see if you can find anyone else flashing their hankie before you put yourself out there, but it’s good to be prepared.

You go to the commons. There’s some people about. You scan the asses in the room, looking for handkerchiefs. It doesn't take you long to spot one. Everyone’s stressed right now, and running low on cigs, and probably running low on booze now that you think about it. You walk up to the ass's owner and pull the kerchief out of his waistband and sling an arm around his shoulder when he looks around. 'Hey.' You hold up the kerchief and waggle it.

'Hey.' He smiles at you. It's a good smile. His friends wolf whistle and you ignore them in favour of smiling back, showing your canines. One of his eyes is darker brown than the other, a genome quirk. His hair, like yours, is toeing the edge of the regs in length.

You go find a closet to fuck in. It's good. You get to forget who you are for a little while. You don't tell him your name, because you don't want him to tell you his. You don't want to be with a person right now so much as another warm body. Afterwards you sit together for a bit, squished together in the small, dark space, and listen to each other breathe.

'Any idea where a guy can get a drink around here?' You ask eventually.

He breathes a laugh. 'User,' he teases, but you hear him rustling around though y'all's discarded clothing, and then a flask top being unscrewed. He presses the flask into your hand.

You drink. It's truly terrible stuff, and it burns the back of your throat like paint thinner, but you're grateful for it all the same. You're feeling good enough to even pass it back after a few moments. You share it in silence for a bit.

When it's almost empty he says, 'I'm saving the last of it. I get the feeling I'm gonna need it.'

'Fair.' You get dressed in the dark. 'Thanks.'

'Yeah. Thank you too.'

You go back to your barracks and check the time. You have an hour left to catch some sleep. You're not sure if you'll be able to, but you lie down and blackness quickly takes you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i gave myself a crash course in mando'a because the preexisting vocabulary really wasn't enough to suit my needs. i try to make everything apparent from context bc i dont like making readers check a little dictionary or whatever, but here's the phrases and where i got them from explained if you're interested:
> 
>  _dalyc'vode_ \- trans woman clones. most mando'a words are gender neutral, including _vod/vode,_ it usually gets translated to brothers bc most of the clones, and all of the canon clones, are male, but it'd be more accurate to translate it as siblings/comrades/clanmates. bc of this default translation clones refer to other clones as "brothers" as that's basically the name of their clan, they're the _vode,_ it's not meant to translate as "male siblings within my family" so much as a more "brothers in arms" meaning; it's the word they use more than it's intended to be gendered, which is why slick calls ceyda a brother. so while the literal translation of _dalyc'vode_ is "female brothers" its intended to mean more of "clones who are female" where clones is being taken a demographic label rather than a biological one. (though to the _vode_ themselves the two always go hand in hand, the _"vode"_ in _dalyc'vode_ is referring to their clan rather than the physical act of being cloned. also, hypothetically, _dalyc'vode_ could refer to cis women in this clan as well, but as the case is, all of them are dmab.)
> 
>  _vod'ika_ \- little brother / little sibling, can be used as a term of affection regardless of age. idk if this one's canon, it's not in the wiki, but i've seen other people use it in their fics.
> 
>  _di'ku'tika_ \- combination of _di'kut_ meaning "idiot" and the suffix _ika_ as seen above making it a term of affection. the literal translation would be something along the lines of "stupid child" but it carries a much lighter, teasing tone. the apostrophe moves to before the t because mando'a is way more of a spoken language than a written one; the writing of it reflects the way its said, with the pause before the t (DEE-kuu-tih-ka vs dee-KUUT).
> 
> also i imagine the letter c in mando'a is usually soft (like an s sound), so _dalyc'vode_ is pronounced DALIS-vode and captain ceyda's name is pronounced SAY-da.


	5. Chapter 5

You wake with the rest of your squad, bar Punch, still in medical, and hit the sonics. While you’re getting dressed you find an unfamiliar bottle of lube in your pants pocket. You stare at it for a few seconds before it clicks that these aren’t your pants.

Fuck. You search your new pockets. You find a kerchief that looks exactly like your kerchief but probably isn’t, and nothing else, which means he got both his flask and your cigarettes.

Fuck. You do not need this right now. You groan and pull your hands down your face.

‘What’s up, Sarge?’ Gus asks, turning his shirt right side out.

‘Traded pants on accident with the dude I fucked last night.’

People laugh, which yeah, fair. ‘But I had my last fucking cigs in my pocket.’

They’re still laughing, but Gus at least slaps you consolingly on the back. ‘I’d let you bum one, mate, but I don’t have any left and I’m already half mad with it. Guess you’ll have to track him down, fuck him again, and get your pants back.’

More laughter, not just from your own squad but a few other guys nearby in the changing room as well. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ you’re uncomfortable being the center of attention even if you don’t mind being teased. ‘Hey, at least I got his lube out of it.’

‘You don’t know where that’s been,’ someone you don’t know says, and you snort.

‘Yeah I do,’ you counter. ‘Up my ass.’

There’s more laughing, including some dude with this real stupid wheezy laugh, and you leave the changing room gracefully enough. You don’t know what’s on the roster today; you don’t know how long your companies are staying here to regroup before attacking the next sector.

_ We lost a solid quarter of Torrent, _ Rex had said. Skywalker aside, you wish you hadn’t been in the room for that. You know you could have figured it out on your own just by paying any amount of attention, but there’s a reason you don’t.

You get some food and sit by yourself. You’re feeling guilty about whatever it was that happened with Dogma last night. You don’t really know what was going through your head at the time, but you do know you kind of walked out on him mid conversation to go fuck a stranger. You have a headache, but it’s not a hangover; there wasn’t enough booze in the flask for that. You’re starting to sincerely wish a supply run could get through. Normally two cigarettes would not be the end of the goddamn world.

You nurse a cup of caf and watch the goings on dully, keeping an eye out for Dogma. You’re not sure what you’re going to say to him, but you should at least apologise. Dude tries so hard, he doesn’t deserve you being an asshole at him. He doesn’t really deserve any of this, to be honest. Earnest, stupid bastard with a saviour complex. You should really stop siccing him with all of your problems.

You’re surprised when someone sits down across from you. You look up and after a moment realise it’s Niko. Kid doesn’t really have any distinguishing features, standard buzzcut, no facial hair, no ink, but you recognise the way he’s looking at you, eyes not quite focused on your face. ‘Hi,’ he says.

‘Hi,’ you say, and watch him start stabbing his breakfast with gusto. You don’t really know what to say. You don’t know the bloke very well, and you suck at small talk. ‘How goes it?’

He shrugs, chews, swallows. ‘Alright.’

He doesn’t seem inclined to say anything else so you don’t either, just sip your caf and continue to stare out at the room. You’re even more surprised when another couple brothers walk up to you. Neither of them are Dogma, or anyone else you recognise. You look up at them. The guy in front looks kind of shy. ‘You’re Slick?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ you say, warily. What is this?

‘I’m Target; that’s Decker.’ Target? Poor guy’s squadmates must’ve hated him. ‘Um.’ He toys with his hands. You raise your eyebrows. Decker elbows him. He laughs. ‘I-- that is to say we-- heard you were holding a prayer service. We were wondering if we could join.’

You are going to murder Captain Rex. Every single fiber of your being is currently devoted to hating that man. You open your mouth, and then shut it again.

Fuck.

‘Yeah,’ you say, because you can’t think of a single fucking excuse for the life of you. ‘We’ll do it in the spare room by the bottom of the basement stairs after dinner if nothing comes up.’

Target nods, and smiles, beautifully and uncertainly. Fuck, why does he have to have a cute smile. ‘Thanks,’ he says.

You nod to him with a smile of your own, internally cursing every moment that led to your creation. ‘Of course. I’ll see you both then.’

Target waves a little and they both leave. You stare at the empty space left by them with probably a touch more insanity than you should let make it to your face.

Fuck.

Niko leans in. ‘We don’t have a real prayer service,’ he whispers.

You look at him. ‘I know that,’ you hiss. ‘I didn’t have an excuse to turn them away. Rex has to have been the one who told them, and it’d make it back to him if I said no.’ You press the heels of your hands against your eyes. ‘Fuck. I’m going to have to come up with something.’

‘I can help.’

‘Sure. Whatever.’ You sigh and drag a hand through your hair. Fuck. Dogma’s probably still mad at you. You groan quietly, but there’s nothing for it than to get to work. ‘Okay. You start thinking of ideas. I’m gonna go find Dogma.’

‘Okay.’

You drain the rest of your caf and get up. You look around the room but don’t see Dogma so instead set out with a purposeful stride. You lost your last cigarettes, Dogma has every right to be pissed at you, and you guess you’re a preacher now. Plus you still have Skywalker to worry about, as well as your impending doom. This day just gets better and better. Your blaster’s sounding mighty tasty right about now.

You don’t go kill yourself. Instead, you go find Dogma. It takes a little bit of searching, but you find him after a bit, in a hallway with Captain Rex.

Shit. Your blood freezes. ‘Slick,’ Rex says in greeting. ‘Good to run into you again.’

‘Likewise, Captain. But I’m actually here to have a word with Dogma.’ You glance at him. He’s looking at you intensely, jaw set, in his shell with the bucket under his arm. Fuck. You wonder if anything’s wrong or if it’s just this stupid bullshit.

‘Be my guest,’ Rex says, and walks off. You dare to look at Dogma for longer than a second.

‘Um.’

Dogma sighs. ‘Come on.  _ Di’kut.’ _

You go find an empty room. He sets his bucket down on a crate so he can cross his arms, eyebrows raised.

You sigh. A lot of things drain from your body, tension, maybe your remaining shreds of dignity. Your shoulders sag. ‘I’m sorry.’

He sighs too and drops the act. ‘It’s okay, Slick. Thanks for apologising.’

‘Well, yeah, I was an asshole to you.’

‘You kinda were.’

‘So-- I’m sorry. But we also have a problem.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Rex told some fuckholes about our “religious practice.” They cornered me into saying they could join us.’

‘Oh, fuck.’ His hand goes to cover his mouth.

‘Don’t worry, I got this. We just have to make up some sort of  _ jetii _ prayer. Niko’s helping me think of stuff. I know I’ll be able to lead it once we think of what to do. I just wanted to warn you.’

‘Slick...’

‘I  _ know _ it’s my fault.’ Something like panic is beading up in your chest, even as you know you weren’t lying about your ability to fake this.  _ Nice going, Slick. _ You hold your hands up placatingly. ‘But I got this. I’m good at making stuff believable.’

‘Slick!’

It’s almost shouted, much louder than you should be being right now. You shut up, looking at him. His shoulders are tense. ‘I believe you about that. You lied us into this, you can lie us out of it. But I don’t care about that right now.’

You look at him. He’s breathing hard. ‘I’m giving up a lot for you,’ he says. ‘I don’t even know you.’

You grapple with the statement. It’s not your usual slowness, your inability to grasp what’s going on; you just plain don’t get it. ‘What are you giving up?’

For a moment he looks like he could cry. ‘Everything!’ he hisses. ‘I’m risking so fucking much! Niko’s survival! My own survival! If anyone finds out I know you’re treasonous and didn’t turn you in? I’m losing sleep over trying to keep you alive and you don’t even  _ care!’ _

You stare at him, taken aback. It never occurred to you that he was  _ trying _ on your behalf. You don’t know what you thought, but it wasn’t this. You thought he was just-- like this. Eager and ready to help.

‘What happened to mutually assured destruction?’ you ask, unable to get your voice louder than a murmur. Even as you say it, you know it’s dumb. Your secret is worth so much more than theirs.

‘Like you’d turn Niko in.’ He’s right. He’s also still breathing heavily, even though his tone is calmer. ‘And I’m not going to turn you in, but that’s because you don’t seem to be a risk to anyone except yourself.’

You feel fucked up, quietly shattered. He’s not done. ‘Things weren’t complicated until you showed up. Yes, Niko and I had to hide what was really going on with him, but we would just go off and run practices together and that’s not that suspicious! And then you had to go and make up this crazy lie to Captain Rex because he noticed you weren’t  _ feeding yourself, _ and now you have a fucking congregation that you’re getting us both tangled up in, and I don’t wanna lie to my CO! I don’t want to lie to anybody! I met Niko and I thought that surely, teaching someone to be good and follow the regs couldn’t be bad, even if I know I’m supposed to turn him in, I can’t be doing a bad thing, just helping him get back on track. There’s no reason he should be sent away, he’s just trying, he’s trying so hard. But you, Slick-- you’re something else.’

You stare, shocked, feeling so guilty and pinned under a microscope. You don’t want Niko and Dogma to get decommissioned because of you. That’s the last thing you want. You don’t know what to say.

‘I just don’t know why you’re doing this if you don’t even care. If you don’t even want to try.’

‘I am trying.’ It hurts, even though you’re still burning with guilt. He doesn’t know what it’s like. Apparently you don’t know what it’s like for him, either.

‘Then why did you walk out yesterday when I was trying to help you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘I don’t remember, I just did it. I’m not-- I swear to you, Dogma, I’m trying. I just don’t know what I’m doing half the time, more than half the time even. I try to keep up but I can’t and my body keeps acting without me.’ It feels like it costs something to say it out loud, but you want him to understand. You don’t know why, but you do. ‘I get stressed out and then I start falling behind on what’s even happening or why but my body keeps acting like it’s preprogrammed. You don’t have to help me, I get it, I don’t want you or Niko to get hurt either.’ It’s starting to happen again, and you fight it, trying desperately to stay afloat before you do anything else to hurt him. ‘I didn’t mean to tell such a dumb lie to Rex, it just happened. And I didn’t mean to walk out on you either. When I’m out on the battlefield, that shit is what keeps me alive, but the rest of the time? I don’t even know.’

He sighs. ‘Do you want my help?’

‘Not if it means you and Niko getting in trouble. I--’ your throat sticks. ‘I’m a goner, Dogma. I know I am. You put your heart and soul into me it’s just gonna get broken.’

‘Too late. Asshole.’

For some reason that more than anything makes you want to cry. ‘Why are you doing this?’

He shrugs. ‘You were scared. And you were just trying to fix it.’

‘Fuck,’ you say to yourself.

‘So if you tell me to fuck off again I’m gonna before I die on the same saber. But... don’t you dare do it just to be noble.’

‘Says the noblest fucker I’ve ever met.’

You just look at each other for a few seconds. He looks the way you feel.

You let out a breath. ‘I don’t know if you giving me help is always gonna be the best idea, Dogma, but... I think it might kill me if we couldn’t be friends.’

It’s terrifying to say it, but you think you feel realer than you have in months. Dogma surges forward and hugs you. You let out an “oof” as he crashes into you. ‘Hey, hey,’ you laugh, and scruffle what short hair he has. ‘Fuckin bleeding heart.’

He releases you and grins. God, if you had just met him in passing you would think he’s a hardass, with a shaved head and giant face tattoo. What a fucking puppy. ‘You in trouble with Rex?’ you ask, sobering up a little as you remember.

‘What? Oh, no, I was actually talking to him about you.’

You raise your eyebrows. ‘Smart of you getting me in a good mood before you said that.’

‘I didn’t get you in trouble. I was just worried that you weren’t listening to me or the medic.’

‘So should I expect a telling off from ol’ Rexy-poo?’

_ ‘Rexy-poo?’ _ he sounds mortified.

You laugh. ‘You’ve never heard him called that?’

‘You have some seriously wrong impressions about the circles in which I move.’

You laugh again, raucous and open. You feel better than you have in months. Years, even. Fuck, was the medic right? That is his fucking job. He was probably right. ‘T-Rex? Judge, jury, and Rexecutioner? Rextal exam? ERextile dysfunction?’

He’s laughing and also buried his face in his hands. ‘Oh my god.’

‘You’re such a fucking nerd.’ You’re still laughing. ‘Fuckin goody two shoes. So, is he going to bother me about it?’

He can’t answer for a bit, he’s laughing too hard. You grin, watching him. ‘I don’t--’  _ hic _ ‘--think so. He just told me to keep a--’  _ hic _ ‘--eye on you.’

You gave him the hiccups. You are so fucking delighted. ‘You have the hiccups!’

‘It was--’  _ hic _ ‘-- funny!’ He’s indignant.

‘Oh my god you’re adorable.’

_ Hic _ ‘--shut up!’

You tackle him to the floor and get your hands under his shell to tickle him. He’s laughing, hiccuping, protesting, wriggling around until he manages to throw you off of him and retaliate. You’re just in your blacks and are a  _ much _ more vulnerable target.

‘Mercy, mercy--’ you hack up a stupid laugh, trying to curl in like a pillbug to protect your most vulnerable parts.

‘Never! You earned this! “ERextile dysfunction...”’

_ ‘Ni dinu ner gaan--’ _ you choke between laughing.

The door opens. Dogma immediately stops tickling you and gets off the ground and stands at attention. It takes you a little longer to stand up. When you do you see Captain Ceyda, looking amused. You salute too.

‘At ease.’ She’s grinning. ‘I admit, not what I expected to find.’

‘Why, were you hoping for a threesome?’

You’re in a good enough mood that it slips out before you really think about it. Dogma turns bright red, but Ceyda throws back her head and laughs. ‘You kids were making an awful lot of noise. Thought someone should put the fear of god in you.’

‘With all due respect, I suspect you just like fucking with people, sir.’

‘Oh, I don’t expect any respect from you, Sergeant. You’re fine, Trooper, don’t die from blood rush now. Rex would kill me.’

You shoot him a glance. He looks like he is trying very hard to neither laugh nor hit you, and then he hiccups.

You burst out laughing.

‘Go do something with your time,’ Ceyda says, and shoos you both out of the room.

You grin sheepishly at Dogma. ‘You never break regs, do you.’

‘Of course I don’t!’ He’s still blushing. He hiccups again.

‘I’m gonna have to fix that.’ You slap him on the back.

‘Why did I agree to knowing you.’

‘Come on, let’s get you some water and see how Niko’s doing.’

Niko, it turns out, has been drafted into kitchen duty for the crime of just sitting there. ‘We gotta go help him,’ Dogma says.

‘I hate kitchen duty,’ you say, but you go with him. You discover to your chagrin once you get there and get aproned up that Niko is doing just fine, and is in fact providing a backing beat for a work chant consisting of everyone saying their job in rhythm with one another.

‘Chop chop chop--’

‘In the pot!’

‘Chop chop chop--’

‘In the pot!’

‘Stem! Ass! In the trash! Stem! Ass! In the trash!’

‘Griiiiiidle up! Griiiiiidle up!’

It’s kind of ridiculous, but you’re in a good mood and everyone here seems to be in a good mood also. Well, mostly everyone; the guy who gave you each aprons looks like he’s nursing a wicked headache. He looks at you two and your smiles and his shoulders sag in defeat. ‘Kill me now.’

‘Get the fuck out of here,’ you tell him. ‘We’ll cover for you. What are you doing?’

He shows you how to run the steriliser for the dishes and how to clean them off beforehand. ‘We got it,’ you tell him. ‘Go take a fucking nap.’

He leaves quickly. You grimace at the dirty dish pile. Washing dishes is your personal hell, but you’re not going to ask Dogma to do it; you feel you owe him one. ‘I’ll do the scrubbing, you just keep the line moving for me.’

‘Okay.’

Scrubbing dishes may be absolutely disgusting, but once you get a rhythm going you can think about your most pressing issue: the prayer service. You wonder if Niko’s come up with anything, but you won’t have the chance to ask him til you get out of here, so you better start thinking in case he didn’t.

Okay, so it's supposed to all be based off the  _ jetiise _ force. You think back to what you've seen of  _ jetiise _ and the things they do. You've been in the 501st since the war started, but you haven't had much personal contact with Skywalker. You're pretty sure he's not a normal  _ jetii _ anyway, what with the way the other men and the media talk about him. The only other  _ jetii _ you've really met is General Shaak Ti, whom you briefly trained under before being shipped out. You had been awed by her, then, instead of afraid. Awed by this beautiful woman who seemed to glow with white light and who carried herself everywhere with an endless care and delicacy and grace. She never raised her voice, never ran, or moved urgently. You had admired her, this person so alien to the sterile and rough world you grew up in. Your squadmates had accused you of having a crush, which was fair, though you never would have admitted it at the time.

The thought of her makes you feel bitter now, but you've got to stay focused at the task at hand. You weren't lying to the captain when you said you learned about the force from her. You think about her carefulness. How she learned every one of your names. Yours had made her smile, and your squadmates were quick to tell her how you had gotten it, but her laughter was kind and for the first time you hadn't felt ashamed of it.

You had felt good, then, about serving the Jedi.

'Slick?' It's not until you hear your name that you realise that your hands have stilled. Dogma is next to you. 'You okay,  _ vod?' _

You shake yourself and push thoughts of General Ti aside, grounding yourself in the blue-grey walls of the kitchen and the smell of steam and oil. You can feel real, if you try. 'Yeah.' You go back to scrubbing the dish in your hands.

He nods. 'Just checking. Do you need help with the dishes?'

You look and notice the stack of dirty dishes for you to wash compared to the nearly empty pile of rinsed ones. You grin sheepishly. 'Yes?'

He shakes his head and smiles. 'Budge over.'

You do. It's not the biggest sink; you're standing hip to hip. He grabs a sponge and starts to help you with the pile. You like being close, physically, with your brothers. He feels warm even though you're not touching.

Task at hand, though. You try to remember the things General Ti did without thinking about the woman herself. You know there was a lot of her sitting quietly with her eyes closed. Meditation, but like, so much fucking meditation. That's probably something. Did she say anything else about the force? The force is what gives  _ jetiise _ their pow-- oh ew oh fuck there is something on your hand it's stuck to your fucking  _ finger fuck fuck fuck-- _

You screech and fling your hand around like you just put your hand in a barrel of leeches until the piece of dead food flies off and sticks to the wall. Dogma is laughing. You've attracted the attention of the rest of the guys on kitchen duty too.

'Fuck you,' you tell Dogma, pulling a face as you run your hand under hot water to wash off the phantom slime.

Dogma hiccups.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day bitches
> 
> my document for this is now 69 pages long >:3c

You go and put your armor on before going to dinner and the subsequent prayer circle. It feels a little silly after walking around in your blacks all day, but it makes you feel more credible, like you’re CT-9983, Sergeant Slick, and not Nice-Going-Slick the fucked out fuckup. You finish eating quickly and head down to the basement with Dogma and Niko.

You’re the first ones there, which you were hoping for. Niko, it turned out, had a hell of a lot better ideas than you managed, and you have newfound respect for the kid. You walk around the room, planning everything out in your head.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to lead it?’ Niko asks again.

‘I’m sure. You did great, but I’m way better than you at talking,  _ vod.’ _

‘Okay.’

You find a place to head the meeting from and kneel down on the floor with your bucket beside you and go over the plan in your head, eyes closed. ‘Should we do anything?’ Dogma asks.

‘Just sit down somewhere.’ You peek at them and then go back to your closed-eye planning.

You hear a knock on the door a few minutes later, followed by the sound of it opening, and look up. Target and Decker brought two more brothers with them. ‘Hi,’ Target says. ‘I hope it’s okay, Nosebleed and Spike wanted to come too.’

‘Of course.’ You smile shyly, earnestly. ‘Come have a seat.’

They all sit down in a vague circle with Dogma and Niko. You introduce everybody. ‘So, this is the first time it’s not just been the three of us, so bear with me,’ you explain. Your strategy is to go with friendly, well-meaning, and maybe a little shy. They’ll be more forgiving of any mistakes that way, and it lines up with your role as a preacher of circumstance.

‘It was Slick’s idea in the first place,’ Niko says, ‘So we’re letting him lead.’

Damn, the kid took your instruction on lying to heart. You warm with pride, and nod. ‘The whole idea is we’re asking the force to intercede for us and our brothers. We might not be able to command it like the  _ jetiise, _ but they say the force is connected to all of us. If it listens to them, maybe it’ll listen to us.’

The new guys are all listening raptly. You shake off the weirdness of it all. ‘It’s in everything.’ You lay your hand on the cement flooring, finger splayed. ‘General Ti told me so. Other Jedi have said it to others, too. The force is all around us.’

‘I remember that from General Ti, too,’ Spike says. You nod to him.

‘So... it might be a shot in the dark that it’d be listening to a handful of clones, but it can’t hurt, and maybe it’ll help. Maybe it’ll give us that extra piece of strength we need to save our  _ vode _ and carry it all through.’

More nodding. ‘We’re just going to be meditating,’ you say. ‘Just breathe and try to feel what’s around you. All the air and the noises and the smells and the feelings. The force is all around us, so just feel everything around us, and you’ll be feeling the force. Then once you’ve reached out to it, ask it for what you need. I try to keep it humble. It listens best to the  _ jetiise _ and all. I just want as many of us to survive this as is possible.’

You have to work to keep your hand from tensing. Maybe this isn’t the worst idea, all on its own. This part is credit to Niko, anyway.  _ All prayers are is asking for stuff, _ he had said.  _ And it’s easiest to ask for things when you don’t think anyone is really listening. But it’s got to be different from just asking the universe, right? To make it special? Didn’t you say the  _ jetiise  _ say the force is something you can touch? _

‘Make sense?’

They all nod. Even Dogma nods, and you press down a smile. ‘How do you know when you’re touching it?’ Spike asks. Target stifles a giggle behind his hand. Decker elbows him.

You shrug. ‘You don’t. I just figure a shot in the dark is better than nothing.’

He nods, looking solemn. ‘Are you ready to start?’ you ask, looking between each of them.

They all nod, or say yeah, or okay, so you take a deep breath and close your eyes.

You know you don’t have to actually do it, but the alternative is remembering about Skywalker and how you’ve forgotten to visit Punch since the first time and how you lost your last two cigarettes, and hey, it’s not like you’re  _ wrong. _ A shot in the dark is better than nothing, even if you have no love for  _ jetiise. _

Fucking Skywalker. Fucking  _ jetiise. _

You try to concentrate on your surroundings, but all you can think about is the bitterness filling your chest, so instead you just focus on breathing deep and even. You really do hope all your  _ vode _ make it through this alive. You know it’s not going to happen. You know that any  _ vod _ who makes it to the end of the war is going to be a goddamn living miracle. But fuck do you hope.

Some fear has risen to grip at your throat, but you force your breathing to stay even. They’ll all hear it, if you let your breath catch.

Just breathe, Slick. Just breathe.

You feel trapped, all of a sudden, flooded with a lot of things. The  _ jetiise. _ Everything you’ve spent the last few months realising. Dogma telling you you have to change, because nothing else will. Niko’s vacant eyes. That  _ vod’s _ smile as you dangled his handkerchief to show him, crinkling his mismatched eyes. Captain Ceyda’s tattoo, and the perfectly hidden triangle marking who she is in a way the trainers and generals and politicians and civilians can’t see. You telling Dogma you don’t know why you haven’t killed yourself already, and him telling you he’ll see you dead before he lets Niko get caught.

The last one doesn’t hurt, because you know you would too.

You know you’re a goner.

Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re not going to kill yourself unless it’s that or decommission, because if you die on the battlefield you might help some other poor bastards make it. But you  _ will _ kill yourself before you let them decommission you. If you’re going, you’re not going to go quiet. You’ll go screaming the truth to as many fuckers as you can before you blow your brains out.

The truth. Dogma didn’t want you to say it. He didn’t want Niko repeating that shit, or he didn’t want to face it, or he really believes it’s all  _ osik _ and the Republic will save you.

You doubt it’s the last one. He knows what would happen to Niko if anyone caught them. You don’t know how anyone could believe in anything, knowing that. You still don’t know the kid’s story, or what’s wrong with him; it’s possible he’d just be reassigned to some janitorial job where he can’t fuck anything that matters up. It’s also very, very possible he wouldn’t be. It all depends on whether the  _ kaminii _ se think his flesh worth saving.

You heard ghost stories when you were a cadet about  _ reconditioning. _ About how they could take a brother and wipe everything he was, every thought and memory, and nobody could ever prove it. How there was no way of telling if you had ever been reconditioned. You could be walking around in somebody else’s skin like a ghost. Someday somebody else might walk around in yours. Anyone above the age of six knows it’s not real, that decommissioning is the worst thing that can happen to you, that they can’t  _ really _ do that.

But if they could, nobody would ever know.

Wiping memories won’t fix a defect, though. If they get their hands on Niko they’ll just kill him.

You seem to remember promising yourself you weren’t going to think about this. You peek to see where everyone else is at. They all have their eyes closed. You close yours again before any of them catch you.

_ Dogma. _ You can guess how he got his name, memorising the regs like it’s his religion. You wonder how much he still believes in them, now.

Just breathe, Slick.

After the new guys leave-- Spike quietly thanks you-- and shut the door Niko smiles at you. ‘That went well! You look awful.’

‘Fuck, do I?’ You scrub at your face. Dogma is looking at you concernedly. ‘I-- fuck I need a smoke.’

‘I’d give you my cigarettes, but I don’t think I had any,’ Niko says cheerfully. 

The weird tense makes you side-eye him for a second. You snort. ‘Thanks for the thought, kid.’

‘You’re welcome!’

‘I should really go check on Punch. One of my squad, he was supposed to get out of medical soon.’

‘Okay,’ Dogma says. He’s still looking at you like that. It makes your leaving the room feel disconcertingly like a retreat.

But you do go see if Punch is still in medical. He is, currently getting checked over by a different doctor, unless the one you talked to the other day acquired a mohawk since. He raises his good hand in greeting, and you nod to him and go off to the side to wait.

This turns out to be a very bad idea. The doctor you spoke to turns up from a side room and spots you. 'Hi, honey.'

You really, really don't want to have this conversation in front of someone you know. You close your eyes for a moment and take a steadying breath. 'Hi.'

He pauses by you in his way across the room, an empty plastic tub pinned between his arm and side and a way cheerier demeanor on than any doctor in this kriffing war has a right to. He is not deterred by your glare. 'That good, huh?'

'I'm just here to check on one of my men.'

'Have you been following my directions?'

'Yes.' You're not lying.

'And? How do you feel?'

You have to think for a moment, but you know if you give a good answer he'll leave you alone faster. 'Better than I was.' It's technically not a lie, either.

'You do look a little less dead. You know, one of your friends came in here the other day. He was worried about you.'

'I know. He told me.'

'He's a sweetie. You hold onto that one.' He pats your shoulder, and blessedly, walks away.

It's still in a somewhat sour mood that you approach Punch. 'How is it?' you ask him.

He shrugs one-shouldered. 'Hurts less. Doc says it did get infected, though. Something about the humidity... Anyway, it's not too serious.'

His voice is a little too light. You don't think you have it in you to call him on it. Besides, you can guess. Instead you just ask, 'You gonna get out of here any time soon?'

'He says another couple days.'

You nod. A lump is forming in your throat. 'Not too long, then. That's good.'

He nods, smiling.

You can't take any more of this. 'I'll see you later, Punch,' you say, and curse your voice for how much it shakes.

'Bye, Sarge.'

There's also something missing from his tone, but you're not going to stick around to examine it. You leave the medbay as fast as you can without running, and keep walking. A sense of panic has filled you, the world getting smaller and darker around you by the second. You're alarmed, you feel like you have to run, to escape. You walk faster, just looking for privacy, where it'll be safe to break down. You feel like you're twitching. You want to drop to the ground and curl up in the foetal position and let them cart you off.

You walk right into someone. You stumble and catch yourself and think you try to keep walking, hearing distant noise, and then a hand closes around your upper arm and pulls you off to a dark hallway.

You can't see. You have no idea who you're with. You only just stop yourself from screaming. Your breath comes out in ragged, strangled gasps. The hand on your arm feels like death itself. ‘No, no, no--’

‘You’re okay,  _ vod. _ You’re okay.’ The hand lets go of your arm. ‘You can keep my pants if it means that much to you.’

You try to figure out where the voice is coming from. There’s a vaguely brown and black blur in front of you.

‘Sorry, that was tasteless. You okay, brother? Can you see me?’

‘Y-- no...’

‘Can you sit down?’

You sit down, hard, and all the colours in front of you spin.

‘You’re alright,  _ vod. _ Try to breathe.’

You take a shaky breath, as deep as you can manage. And another one. And another one. ‘Keep walking,’ you hear the voice say.

‘Wha?’

‘Not you. You’re okay,  _ vod. _ Keep breathing.’

Slowly the world resolves itself. You’re sitting on the dirty floor in the dead end of some hallway. You look at the person next to you. You see a very familiar jawline, and then a pair of mismatched eyes. ‘Oh.’

‘You back with me?’

‘Uh. Yeah. Hi.’ You hold up a hand for a moment in greeting. You feel very, very pathetic right now. Of course it’s the guy you fucked without finding out what his name was.

‘Hi.’ He smiles a little. ‘You were pretty out of it. Are you feeling okay?’

‘Peachy.’

He laughs. ‘I think, uh. I should walk you to medbay? I’m glad I was there, I was just looking for you to give you these back.’

Your eyes take a moment to focus on the item he’s holding out to you. It’s a plastic bag, with two cigarettes in it.

You start crying. ‘Bless you.’ You take the bag. He laughs again. ‘I thought you’d just fucking smoke em...’

‘I don’t smoke.’

‘I love you.’ You take a cigarette out of the bag and put it in your mouth. It takes you a few seconds to realise what’s missing. ‘I don’t have a lighter.’ You haphazardly pat your pockets.

‘Do you have one in your berth?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay, well how about I walk you back there, you can have a cigarette, we can trade pants, and then I’ll take you to medical.’

‘Yes. Okay. N-- no. Was just. In medical. Don’t wanna...’

‘Are you sure? It didn’t really look like you could, um. See.’

‘I was just in medical.’ You bat your hand in his direction. He doesn’t need to know you weren’t there for you. ‘Jus need to sleep.’

‘Okay. I’ll walk you back to your barracks.’

‘Okay.’ The world is spinning again. You have a cigarette in your mouth but it’s not working.

‘Come on.’ He holds out a hand to help you up. You take it. The world is very spinning now, and wobbling while it’s at it.

‘I’m... taking you back to medical.’

‘No--’ You don’t think you can handle it right now, going back to be with Punch and the rest of the dead. You are then leaning against something cool and very hard. ‘Please,’ you beg. ‘Please no. Please don’t.’

There’s a pause, then he says, ‘Okay. I won’t take you to medical. I’ll just take you to your quarters. But then you have to tell me what’s going on so I know I’m not leaving you to die.’

You take a moment to decide whether you believe him. ‘Okay.’

You somehow make it back to your bunk with his help. The only thing you’re able to see during that time is your feet, and they are very far away. You collapse onto your bunk gratefully, not caring that you’re still in your armor.

‘Where’s your lighter?’

‘Outside pocket.’

He rustles for a bit and then lights the cigarette still sticking out of your mouth for you. You take a drag, endlessly grateful. The world makes a little more sense. Just breathe in, breathe out.

‘I’m gonna let you keep the pants for now,’ he says. ‘I brought your lube, too, though. I’m just going to go ahead and put it and your kerchief in your bag.’ More rustling. ‘Can I get mine back too?’

‘Right pocket.’

He reaches into your pocket and gets his things back. His hand is warm. Everything is warm. It’s hot in here.

‘Now will you please tell me you’re not dying?’

‘I’m not dying.’ You take the cigarette out of your mouth. A bit of ash falls on your face. ‘This happens a lot. I haven’t died yet.’

‘Not super comforting,  _ vod.’ _

‘Mmn.’

‘What’s your name?’

You sigh and blow out smoke. ‘Slick.’

‘Slick, huh. I’m Shiner.’

‘Cause of the--’ you point at one of your eyes.

‘Yeah, cause I have a black eye. How’d you get your name? I know you don’t come pre-lubed.’

You choke on a laugh. ‘I was a fuckup. Squadmates liked taking the mickey. “Nice going, Slick.”’

‘No offense,  _ vod, _ but... “was?”’

You laugh for real. ‘Yeah, I deserve that.’

‘So you don’t want me to get a medic.’

‘Mnuh.’ You hadn’t actually thought about that. You just didn’t want to go to medical. Then you remember that you’re probably defective and that for some reason you don’t seem to want to kill yourself yet. ‘Yeah... no, don’t. I’ll be fine. Jus need to sleep it off.’

‘Okay. And you’re not going to die?’

‘Not today. Hopefully not tomorrow either.’ It hits you then how fortunate you are that he of all possible people found you. You don’t know how much to read into that. Maybe failing to pray to the force worked.

He snorts. ‘Okay  _ vod. _ I’ll believe you.’

‘Thanks. I appreciate it. Let me know if you want me to suck you off or something later. Bout all I got to offer.’

_ ‘Nayc entye. _ Besides, I don’t think I’d have to owe you to get you to do that.’

You chuckle. ‘You’re not wrong.’

‘You’ll be okay?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I will be.’ You sigh. ‘Hey, Shiner?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Thanks.’


	7. Chapter 7

You wake up to the sound of even breathing again, the barracks dark, and realise as you come to that you fell asleep in your armor. Nnygh. You don’t wanna poke what your squad thinks about that one.

You lie there for a few minutes, groggy, and then decide your most pressing matter is to go pee, so you get up and go out into the hallway, blinking as your eyes adjust to the light.

Niko is standing there, across from the door. It takes you a few moments to piece everything this entails together, still blinking. ‘Hey, _vod.’_

‘Hi.’

‘Did you figure out where I sleep..?’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’

It’s as close to an explanation you think you’re going to get. You wonder how everyone around here seems to _know_ so many things. ‘Well I gotta go piss, and then we can hang out.’

‘Okay.’

After a few more seconds you realise you’re actually really glad to see him. You don’t want another night like the last, or yet more hours spent wallowing in your own misery. You go do the necessary and catch sight of yourself in the mirror while you wash your hands. You still look like shit. You see Niko reflected in the mirror standing behind you, waiting by the sinks. His expression is vacant. You wonder if it’s any nicer in his head than it is in yours.

You go find an empty room to hang out in. Niko perches on a crate and you heft yourself up to sit next to him. Your body hurts. Your brain hurts. You wish you had more than one cigarette left. Niko kicks his feet.

‘How are you doing?’ you ask him as you close your eyes like maybe that’ll help. You want to think about something besides yourself, and it’s not like you don’t care about the _di’ku’tika._

‘I’m doing,’ he says. You snort.

‘I know that feeling.’ You peek at him, still looking vacant, kicking his feet like a little kid. ‘You ever get like this?’ You gesture vaguely at yourself in the hopes you won’t have to explain.

‘I think so, yes. Do you feel like everything is resting on you doing something you don’t know how to do?’

‘Not so much that one. I just feel fucked. Like I’m, I don’t know, drunk all the time. I’m not drunk,’ you clarify. ‘Wish I was though.’ You think about it a little more. ‘Yeah, I guess I feel that a little though. Like, I know how to do everything but I don’t know what I’m do _ing_ at any given time.’

‘I think we have the opposite problem, then. I just... don’t know what to do.’

You look at him again. ‘That why Dogma’s helping you?’

‘Yeah. He’s been really nice. Showing me how to do everything. I just wish I could remember it better.’

You look at his face, expecting to see earnestness matching his voice, but he just looks sad. You pat his knee. ‘You’re alright, _vod._ You do alright.’

‘Thanks.’

‘What’s your story, anyway?’

‘My story?’

‘Yeah. How’d you end up here?’ You gesture vaguely again.

‘Oh. I don’t know.’

He says it with enough confidence that you just look at him, trying to figure out what he means. ‘I don’t remember,’ he clarifies.

‘Huh.’ You think back to how Dogma reacted to you the other day, making sure you still knew your name. You guess this is why. ‘Like, anything?’

‘I-- remember some stuff. Here and there. But if I _try_ to remember things I can’t. Dogma says it’s happened before, that I lost everything and had to start over.’

‘So how much memory are you running on right now?’

‘A couple tendays.’

You’re floored. ‘And that’s it?’

‘That’s it!’

He sounds so kriffing cheerful about it. You stare. You can’t imagine. Okay, maybe you’d be happier too, if you could only remember the past twenty days of your life, but still, you’re amazed. This kid must be a fucking genius to blend in so well that nobody’s flagged him. ‘Respect, _vod.’_

He giggles, fucking giggles for real. ‘Thanks.’

‘So how do you know you know Dogma?’

‘He told me so. I mean, I guess I just have to take his word on it, but he’s been really nice, so I don’t see why we wouldn’t’ve been friends.’

‘Yeah, Dogma’s a sweetheart. I’ve only known him as long as I’ve known you and I know that.’

He nods. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘Shoot.’

‘When we first met you, you said some things. About how the Republic is just using us and doesn’t care. And Dogma said it was the opposite. I get why he wouldn’t want me to talk about it, if we’re supposed to be working for them. But I keep thinking about what you said. I just wanted to ask, how do you know? How does he know?’

You sigh, thinking about it. Niko waits patiently. ‘We don’t,’ you say eventually. ‘It’s a matter of opinion. But certain things are true. We fight and die for the Republic. We were made to fight and die for the Republic. It’s the only reason we’re alive. They train us up to be perfect soldiers, and if we stop being perfect soldiers, we’re either defective or treasonous, and they’ll kill us for it rather than spend any time worrying. There’s millions of us. We can all be replaced.’

He’s quiet for a little. ‘Dogma says the Republic fights for peace, freedom, and democracy.’

‘That’s what they tell us, yeah. It’s alright for the natural-borns. They’re the ones who get those great things. But we’re not citizens of the Republic. We’re military assets. We’re just glorified blasters. We’re not people, we’re property. The Republic does fight for those things, yeah. But for its _people.’_

He’s quiet again. ‘So what happens after the war?’

‘I don’t know. It’ll be a miracle if any brother lives long enough to find out.’

Silence. The words hang heavy between you. ‘Dogma’s right that you shouldn’t go blabbing any of this,’ you remind him. ‘You’ll get flagged up, and it won’t go well.’ You take a deep breath, and think hard about what you’re about to say. But you have to. ‘If that happens, if you get arrested for treason, you need to kill yourself as fast as possible. Because if they get their hands on you, they’ll kill you eventually, but not before they do a lot of things that are way worse.’

‘Okay,’ he says.

You hope to fuck it doesn’t come to that. But you can’t bear to think of him as a _kaminii_ plaything, locked up in some lab and sedated from experiment to experiment so he can’t fight back. Reconditioning isn’t the only horror story the cadets tell each other. It’s just the most farfetched one.

Your throat feels tight. ‘Everything Dogma talked about-- that’s the _osik_ that they want us to believe. That dying for the Republic is the greatest honour we could ask for. Some people really do believe it. I mean, they breed us to. Everything they teach us when we’re young is about our greater purpose. Believing in something outside ourselves. The unsaid part is that we don’t matter. But we’re not supposed to realise that.’

‘But you did.’

‘Yeah. It’s like I said. I went insane.’

‘I think I’d rather be insane than not.’

You put your hand on his knee again, feeling like crying for some reason. ‘You just keep it all under wraps, okay? Do better than I’m doing. Don’t let anyone see.’

‘Pretend to be normal,’ he says.

‘Yeah. That.’ You take a shaky breath. ‘It’s like Dogma said, _vod._ It’s not going to change. It’s not going to get better. The best you can do is just to survive.’

‘Why?’

‘Why which part of it?’

‘Why should we try to survive? If they’re just going to kill us.’

You take a deep breath, and answer the question that’s been plaguing you for months. ‘Because in the meantime, we get to be friends.’

He puts his hand on top of yours, and curls his fingers around it, and holds onto you. You laugh weakly as you wipe your eyes. ‘Fuck. I never used to cry. Spent five whole years or summat not crying.’

_I don’t know what changed,_ you almost say, but you do know. You do.

He doesn’t say anything for a bit. You don’t either. You just sit together, feeling the warmth of his knee under your hand, and his hand on top of it.

‘Hey Slick?’ he says.

‘Yeah Niko?’

‘Thanks for being my friend.’

You have to bury your face in your free hand for crying.

You stay there for a little while, holding hands. You feel strung out, but for the time being, okay.

Then the alarm goes off.

‘Shit!’ You let go of Niko and hop off the box. ‘Go find your squad!’ You yell at him, jamming your bucket on and running full tear back to your barracks. Fuck, you hope he’s gonna be okay. A quick uptake can only make up for so much lost time. Maybe something instinctual will keep him alive, like it does for you.

_All prayers are is asking for stuff._

Please. Fuck. Please.

You press your comm on. It’s already tuned to the main channel. ‘--and Ghost Companies engaging requesting backup from Torrent and Cougar Companies. Sector 15 to the southwest, all troops--’

You slam the door to your bunkroom open. Jester is slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Gus is hopping on one foot getting his boot latched on. ‘Where’s Chopper?’ You hurry over to your bunk to kit up.

‘Dunno,’ Gus says.

You look at Jester. ‘No idea either, Sarge.’

‘Goddamnit.’ You turn on your comlink in between what you’re doing, fumble, press buttons through til you hit Chopper’s channel. ‘Chopper! Where the fuck are you?’

‘I’m on my fucking way!’

You growl impatiently and finish strapping on your kit. Chopper bursts through the door. At least he’s armored up already. You start grabbing his stuff for him and handing it over. ‘Come on, move, assholes, Lieutenant’s waiting--’

You all move. Ghost, Preacher, and Ezra companies of the 212th come in hot, meeting you two-thirds of the way through the largest remaining city sector bloodied and battered, and time becomes nothing to you, everything passing by in flashes between carrying out directions from the Lieutenant and keeping your squad alive. It’s all a dark, wet blur, rain soaking the blue concrete battlefield. Blasterfire sears your vision, so bright against everything else. It’s a sea of sounds and smells.

You stare at the drain of the sonic. Something red got under your blacks somehow and is rippling off your body with the vibrations from the sonic. You dimly check yourself over for injury, and find none. Some other poor bastard’s blood, then. You’re not going to think about how it got there. Black water is gathering at the drain. It feels unreal to dry off again. It feels like someone has toggled a switch, and there are two Slicks, one who goes out there and one who stays in here.

You stare at the drain of the sonic.

There is a loud pounding noise behind you. You jump, and look around. ‘Hey!’ someone says. ‘Get the fuck out of there, some of us are waiting!’

It takes several seconds for the words to catch up. ‘Sorry!’ you call back, to a derisive snort. You leave in a hurry.

You stare at the floor, sitting on your bunk. You’re wearing clean blacks. Your hands make and unfold from fists on your knees.

You’re walking through the hallway, ducking around and between people. There’s so many people here. You don’t know how to find who you’re looking for.

You’re heading to command before you know what you’re doing. Captain Rex knows everything, and you don’t care right now, you just want to know your _vode_ are okay. You knock urgently on the door.

‘Come in,’ a voice inside says, and you do.

‘Captain, I just need to know what squad--’

Generals Kenobi and Skywalker are both sitting right in front of you.

You freeze, mouth open. ‘Uh.’

Someone else says, ‘What is it, Sergeant?’

‘I’ll just... go...’

You back out of the room, breathing hard. A second later the door opens and Captain Rex is in front of you. ‘Slick, what’s going on?’

‘It’s not important.’

‘Slick.’

He uses the same tone of voice Dogma did. You almost scream. ‘I just want to know what squad Dogma is in, sir.’ That was your plan, ask for Dogma, and Dogma will know where Niko is. Plans, right, those were... things...

Rex just stares at you for a second. You swear you die, but then you’re not dead, and he says, ‘Argon Squad.’

‘Where’s... where are they sleeping?’

‘Room 112a.’

‘Thank you, sir. Please-- forgive me. Yes.’ You’re walking away from him quickly, backwards, and bump into someone. ‘Sorry,’ you breathe, but they’re already moving again.

‘Check on your _vod_ and then go to bed, Sergeant. That’s an order,’ Rex says.

‘Yes sir,’ you breathe. He goes back in the command center. You try not to run to room 112a. You try not to trip on anybody. You fail both these things, but then the door is in front of you, so you pound on it.

Somebody shouts, ‘Who the fuck?’ It’s not Dogma. You go in.

There’s three bastards inside. None of them are Dogma. ‘I’m looking for Dogma,’ you say.

‘Dude’s still taking a sonic. You might wanna give him a fucking break, _vod,_ or did you not notice we just got off the front?’

Your mind scrabbles at what this could possibly mean. ‘Wha?’

‘Come the fuck in, it’s noisy out there,’ the same guy says. You do, shutting the door behind you. It gets noticeably quieter in the room. ‘I said, if you’re here for Dogma you should come back later. I totally understand needing to punch that bug’s lights out but now is not the time, _vod.’_

You stand there, floored as understanding hits you. ‘People pick on Dogma?’ Your hackles are instantly raised. Why on bloody Kamino would anyone ever want to hit Dogma. You are going to find these people and break all of their arms.

Another _vod_ pops his head up from his bunk. ‘Are you friends with Dogma? Does Dogma have _friends?’_

You stare. ‘Dogma is my fucking _vod’ika_ and-- people _beat him up?_

‘Well, not serious like, but he’s an annoying little twat, ain’t he? I didn’t know he had an _ori’vod.’_

‘It’s... recent.’ Your mind is racing. You have no fucking idea what these guys are talking about. ‘What do you mean, he’s annoying? He’s the sweetest fucker I’ve ever met.’ You will fight anyone who says otherwise.

The two brothers exchange glances. ‘He has been acting weird for a couple months,’ the one on the top bunk says. ‘Disappearing at random times, actually keeping his trap shut. Spending all his time hanging out with Spacecase. Acts like a fucking guard dog around him. Don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, but at least it’s not getting on the rest of our nerves.’

‘Spacecase?’

‘You’re his fuckin _ori’vod_ and you don’t know-- oh, Niko. Dogma calls him Niko. Don’t know how he thought he could get away with giving the new guy some nothing name. We call him Spacecase.’

You’re spinning with this new information. ‘So Niko’s in this squad too.’

‘Yeah. You having trouble, _vod?’_

‘Look, I’m just gonna wait here for Dogma. Which bunk is his?’

The guy gestures towards a perfectly made lower bunk. You sit on it. All of Dogma’s things are put away in perfect order. Some guy comes in but it’s not Dogma or Niko so you ignore them and their conversation with the brothers you were just talking to. The room and the noise all press in around you.

You hear the door open again and it pops the bubble. Dogma is there, just in his blacks, carrying his armor. You hop up. ‘Dogma!’

‘Slick! What are you doing here?’ He hisses the last part, eyes wide and startled.

‘Making sure you’re alive.’

‘Hey Dogma, why didn’t you tell us you had an _ori’vod?’_ one of the guys catcalls.

Dogma’s face scrunches up. ‘You told them you were my _ori’vod?’_

‘You’re mine whether you want to be or not. Are you okay? Is Niko okay?’

Dogma is staring at you open mouthed. ‘I-- I’m fine. Niko is fine too.’

You breathe and find it lets out all the tension held in your body. ‘Thank god.’

‘You told them you were my _ori’vod.’_ The guys are both snickering in the background. You look at his face. He looks extremely taken aback, but recovers after a few seconds. ‘I’m _your_ fucking _ori’vod._ Bastard.’

Your heart soars. You beam. He rolls his eyes and starts stashing his armor. ‘What’s this these _di’kute_ are telling me about people hitting you?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘I don’t need your protection, Slick.’

‘Okay. But I still want to fight the _shabuire._ ’

He glances at you sideways. ‘You do realise that you fighting my battles for me won’t make anyone respect me?’

‘I don’t want to fight your battles. I want to fight people after you’re done with your battles.’

‘Adrenaline makes you a sap, Slick.’

‘So are you going to tell me who’s hit you?’

‘No. If you figure it out I won’t stop you hitting them, but you’re stupid, so that gives me a head start on dealing with my own damn problems.’

You have never been so happy to be insulted before. He sits down on his bed and you sit next to him. ‘You should go to bed, Slick. I’m just waiting for Niko and then I’m going to sleep.’

‘I’ll wait with you. Where’s Niko?’

‘Getting some food before the 212th eat everything in sight.’ He side-eyes you. You look back, raise your eyebrows. ‘Tell me later,’ he says. You nod.

You sit quietly together. You’re a foot apart and can feel him radiating body heat. Something in you wonders if you should question all this and then quickly dies.

Niko comes in. 'Oh, hi Slick,' he says, trotting over and starting to remove his armor.

'These guys tell me they call you by the wrong name,' you say. Dogma shoves your head sideways.

'Oh. I mean... they do? It's kinda weird.'

'Slick's got it in his head he's our protectorate now.'

'Well we did decide we were friends.'

'Do you want me to make them stop, _vod'ika?'_ you ask. Dogma rolls his eyes.

'I don't know. I don't really mind it I guess.'

You side check Dogma. 'Like you have any room to talk, guard dog.'

'What have these guys been telling you.'

'The truth!' one of them calls.

'Anyway, Niko, are you okay? I just wanted to see before I went to bed.'

'Yeah, I'm okay. I'm not hurt or anything.'

'Good.' You get up and bump the side of your head against his.

'Go to bed, Slick.'

You flash Dogma a grin. 'I'm going, _ori'vod.'_

He flips you off. You laugh as you leave for your own berth, feeling blissfully, blessedly real.

Your bunkroom has been invaded by some fuckers with orange stripes. They're laughing, undressing. 'What the fuck is going on here?'

'Hiya, Sarge,' Gus says from Jester's bunk, where the two of them are sitting together.

'Ain't enough berths, are there,' one of the 212th explains.

'So you let them kick you out of your bunk. Pathetic.' You shake your head at Gus who grins, undeterred. 'Where the fuck is Chopper?'

'No clue.'

'Guess he's losing his bed, then.' Your bunk at least is uninvaded. You sit down on it and toe off your shoes.

'Hey, we got them to leave yours alone,' Gus says, and for a moment your heart warms.

'Fucking idiots. Secure your own mask first, _vod.'_

'Well you could give it to me now.'

'Nope. Lost your chance. You two are just going to have to kip together.'

You do end up giving your bunk up, to a _dalyc'vod_ with a diamond pattern shaved into her hair. You settle down with your pillow and blanket on the ground while Gus mocks you and your new friend giggles shyly. 'Can't resist a pretty tattoo, can you Sarge?'

She shoots you a little smile. 'Thanks.'

The way your insides flip is worth the jeering. 'Yeah,' you say, stupidly, and get as comfy as you can on your blanket.

Fifteen minutes into lying there with your eyes closed you raise your voice. 'Okay, fuckers, if you're going to take over my squad's fucking beds you're at least going to shut up so I can sleep.'

There's some laughing, but the noise dies down. 212th fuckers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i fucking cried writing this;;;; theyre friends ToT
> 
> also slick is not immune to women and i am not immune to inventing more trans women to write about


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> upd8d warnings at the start, nothing that comes up this chapter but i know a few more things about where this is going now

You hold the prayer circle again because Target asks you about it, and four additional fuckers show up this time, including someone from the 212th. The base has gotten a lot more crowded with three extra companies around, and you’re not letting yourself get too comfy, sure you’ll be moving out again soon.

You try to pray a little, this time. You’re not so good at the trying to touch the force part, but you do think in your mind, please. Please let Niko and Dogma make it through this. If there’s two fucks who survive the war, let it be them.

Afterwards the guy in orange comes up to you. He looks pretty shiny, even with a banner painted on his breastplate. Something about the earnestness in his face. ‘I wanted to thank you,’ he says. He sounds as earnest as he looks. ‘I never thought that the force could help us, too.’

You shrug, uncomfortable that you’re giving this kid false hope. ‘Sometimes the belief’s the important part. If the strength’s coming from us or from the force, it doesn’t matter so long as it’s there when we need it.’

His face falls a little in confusion, so you continue, ‘What I mean to say is, I don’t know if this really works and I don’t want you going around believing I do. But if what we need to happen happens, who’s to say this wasn’t what tipped it over?’

He nods, wetting his lips. ‘I just want to do everything I can, sir. Seeing General Kenobi-- we all hear about the Jedi, but in action? It’s like he’s working miracles. I just feel like even a tiny shard of that could be what we need to see us through.’

Your heart aches. ‘What’s your name?’

‘CT-20-1091. Kipper, sir.’

‘I’m Slick. You don’t have to call me sir while we’re in here, we’re all just doing our best.’ You desperately wish for something to say that can pop the ruinous hope in the kid’s eyes without breaking him in the process. ‘You got friends, Kipper?’

He nods. ‘Oh, yes s-- Slick. Yes, I do.’

You don’t know where you’re going with this. You don’t have whatever that medic that called you all the pet names has. ‘Keep them close, okay? We may have training and prayer but at the end of the day the best thing we have is each other.’

It sounds trite when you say it out loud. Just some useless _osik_ the kid already knows. ‘I will,’ he says. God. You wish you could shake him by the shoulders and beg him to stop believing in things before he gets himself killed. But you can’t.

Instead you say, ‘Just... just do what you can, trooper,’ and escape before you do something you’ll regret.

Dogma and Niko catch up to you. ‘You left in a hurry,’ Dogma says quietly.

You shake your head like that’ll shake this feeling off. ‘Didn’t know what to say to him. Fucking rose-eyed shiny.’

Dogma opens a door and finds an empty room. ‘In here.’

You all go in. You sit down and put your head in your hands. ‘I feel like I’m giving them false hope.’

Dogma sighs. ‘You can’t undo this, Slick. You could probably duck out of leading it, though.’

‘I just need to think of something better to tell them.’

The words come out before you’ve thought about them, but you realise they’re true. You have these brothers’ attentions. You should be telling them something that might actually help. The question is what.

‘I don’t think it’s false hope,’ Niko says. ‘I mean, if it doesn’t make any difference, at least they’ll die happier.’

‘Right ray of sunshine you are, _vod.’_

‘...I don’t know what that means in this context.’

‘He means you’re being gloomy. It’s sarcasm,’ Dogma explains. You tune out his subsequent explanation of what sarcasm is in favour of trying to think. You can’t shift tacks too drastically. But maybe you could say something, anything, that wouldn’t leave your gut feeling so twisted. What did you need to hear when you were a shiny? What do you need to hear now?

Dogma and Niko run practice drills and you lean back against a crate and wish you had more than one cigarette left. You wish a lot of things, really, but you don’t feel like jumping over that particular precipice at the moment. For now you just watch your _vode_ numbly and try not to think too much.

The door opens and a couple of brothers stumble in. You don’t give them time to notice y’all before you say loudly, ‘Occupied! Find somewhere else to fuck!’

You get up and shoo them off. Hey, that solves the lying problem.

‘Thanks,’ Dogma says, as you shut the door again. ‘Do you think they noticed anything?’

‘If they noticed anything besides their own dicks I’ll eat Skywalker’s ass. You’re fine, _vode.’_

‘If you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure. The only suspicious thing you two do is try not to look suspicious.’ You sit on the crate instead this time.

Raunchy as your reference was, it does remind you of the problem you’ve been trying not to think about: Skywalker. And now Kenobi you guess. You know Dogma probably has some important insight there, but part of you feels so doomed the second you crack open that door that you just don’t want to face it. Even now your heart falls watching the two of them, knowing that these moments are probably among your last. Maybe Skywalker’s been too busy to come for you. Maybe you can ride that out just a little longer.

What do you want to do with your last days alive?

Crying yet more isn’t on the list, but you sure are doing it anyway. Your _vode_ stop what they’re doing and come over. ‘Hey, hey,’ Dogma says. ‘What happened? Are you okay?’

You swallow and shake your head, forcing yourself to look at them instead of hiding like you want to. Remember what you told Niko, because it’s true. If you die tomorrow, you’ll have your friends.

You always thought that you were the one who was cursed. That your touching people would bring them doom. Of course, you still could be right, but it also could be that you spent all this time being stupid and scared, instead of smart and scared and knowing that you’re not special and you’re just another fuck whose days are numbered.

‘I don’t want to die,’ you say. For the first time in months you know it to be true.

‘Is this because of the prayer circle?’ Dogma asks. ‘Because you’re not at any greater risk of dying than you were before it.’

You shake your head. ‘Skywalker.’

You see Dogma pale. ‘What happened?’

‘The other day, Captain made me help him in command, and then Skywalker came in. I don’t know, I think he made me, they say Jedi can read minds--’ You’re breathing very hard, very fast, breaking your promise to keep looking at them already as your vision swims and you gasp for air.

‘Breathe, Slick.’ Dogma’s hand is solid on your chest. ‘Breathe. Deep breath in.’

You do your best to obey, taking a stuttering, rattling breath in.

‘Breathe out.’

You let it all go in a gasp. You need more air, sooner, but Dogma is saying, ‘Breathe in.’

He gets you breathing steady again. You’re endlessly grateful to find yourself still sitting with your friends instead of in some blurred and confused version of the world where you fail to track what you’re doing until you wake in a situation you think you ought to regret. ‘Dogma...’

‘Listen to me, Slick. I want you to think back to when you were in the command center. When was this?’

‘It was... night...’

‘I mean, in relation to now.’

‘Um. Th-- three days ago?’

‘Okay. You were in the command center three days ago. What were you doing?’

‘Helping Captain Rex.’

‘What did he want you to do?’

‘Watch the scanners for him. And the general comm.’ You can picture it, Rex with his ankles crossed while he worked on his datapad, the brown room, the array of blue screens.

‘Okay. What happened next?’

‘Captain Ceyda came in.’ You can remember her laugh, a wicked cackle as she threw her head back. Rex had thrown a cup at her. Though you know you know the noise the scene is weirdly silent in your mind’s eye, like her laugh is disconnected from her, audio and visual not lining up.

‘Okay, and then what?’

‘There was a blip on the scanners. Comms said it was Skywalker. I tried to leave, but then he was there.’ You shiver involuntarily. Skywalker had been like a spotlight, coming so close, so close to trapping you in it like a specimen under a microscope.

Oh god, the _kaminiise,_ the experiments. You press a hand to your mouth.

‘Stay with me, Slick. What did General Skywalker do?’

You struggle to breathe. ‘Skywalker... something about Ventress... and Torrent Company...’

‘So he was talking to Captain Rex?’

‘Yes.’ That sounds right.

‘Did he say anything to you?’

The moment of the spotlight hitting you, blinding blinding golden light with you frozen like a searchlight catching up with a prison break. ‘Yyes.’

‘What did he say?’

You try to remember. His lips moved. You don’t remember the noise. You try harder, trying to focus, to concentrate, but all you can remember is golden light and Skywalker’s too-long brown hair and his lips moving, golden lips in a golden face sounding out golden words--

‘I don’t know.’ Your shoulders fall with defeat.

‘Did he say a lot of things? Or just one thing?’

‘Just... just one, I think.’

‘And then what happened?’

‘I left.’ The blissful white light from overhead lamps in the hallway instead of this unnatural golden sea. It had all looked so dim. You had never felt so grateful for dim greyness.

Dogma takes a deep breath. You glance up at his face. ‘I don’t know what to tell you, Slick,’ he says. ‘I wish I did, but without knowing what he said to you... All I can think is if he wanted to have you flagged we’ve had three days to start seeing the effects of that. Maybe he didn’t really notice you.’

You have never felt more noticed in your life than when being looked at by Anakin Skywalker. ‘I don’t think so, Dogma. I remember him looking at me.’

‘You know how it is with the natural-borns though. Even if they talk to you, they’ll forget about you the second you walk away.’

You shake your head. ‘Have you met him? Skywalker?’

‘Not in person, no.’

‘He’s not-- the _jetiise_ aren’t like the other nats. You can feel when they’re looking at you. Not the way you can normally feel when someone’s looking, either. It’s like a big spotlight placed only on you. I know he noticed me. I just don’t know what he noticed.’

Dogma’s quiet for a few seconds. Niko speaks up. ‘But if they can read minds, the _jetiise,_ you’d have to have been thinking about being treasonous at the time.’

‘Would I, though? I don’t know how much they can see.’

‘Were you?’ Dogma asks.

‘N-- no, I don’t think so. I was just thinking about how scared I was.’

‘He’s a general. He’s got to be used to being intimidating.’

‘I-- maybe.’ Fuck, you hope that’s the case. ‘I was trying to-- I remembered what you told me, about how if I believe being normal will save me, it will. So I just tried to believe as hard as I could. I don’t know if I did a good job, though. It might’ve got lost in all the fear.’

‘But it’s possible that’s all he picked up on. Or maybe he didn’t bother to read your mind at all. I mean, why would he?’

‘Right.’ You nod, slowly seeing the sense of this. Skywalker would have no reason to wait to come after you, or to send Rex after you. He might have his reasons you don’t know about-- but then he’d be letting a treasonous clone walk around base unsupervised. As far as you know unsupervised. Fuck. Is he spying on you? You look around the room. You don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Maybe Jedi can spy on your mind from far away. Maybe he never stopped keeping his eye on you, and you just can’t tell when you’re not in the same room with him and all his golden light.

But then what is he biding his time for? For you to make your move? For you to rat out your friends? Fuck, you had that conversation with Niko, about treason, and Niko told you he was defective and just about said he was treasonous, and fuck, you really are cursed. Having friends again was a terrible idea because you’ve sealed their fates now.

You look up at their faces in horror, imagining Niko imprisoned for study, and Dogma up for execution. You feel sick.

‘You’re okay, _vod._ He’s not coming after you. He probably forgot all about you as soon as you left.’

‘I’ve got to turn myself in.’

The words fall from your mouth of their own accord. It really is the only solution that’ll save both of their lives, if you take the fall. If you somehow convince Skywalker you put Niko up to saying all those things. It’s a long shot, but it’s the only shot you have.

‘What?’ Dogma sounds alarmed, but you feel cold and clear.

‘Listen. He hasn’t come for me, which means he’s biding his time for some reason. The only reason I can think of is he’s waiting for me to rat out who my friends are. He must be reading my mind from a distance, spying, and now he’s found out about you and Niko, and I’ve got to turn myself in while I can still convince him it’s only me.’

‘Slick that’s crazy.’

You stand up. Dogma stands directly in your way. ‘Slick,’ he says, warning.

‘What?’ You’re exasperated, panic building again. You aren’t going to let him die just to be noble. There was something he said, about nobleness, earlier. It doesn’t matter now. You try to sidestep him. He grabs your upper arm.

‘Slick, I need you to trust me. What you just said is _literally insane._ You are trying to go get yourself killed for no reason and I’m not going to let you.’

‘What I’m _trying_ to do is save you both--’

‘Uh, guys?’ Niko says. ‘You should probably keep your voices down...’

You ignore him. ‘Dogma, you have to let me do this.’

‘Like fuck I do. You wanted so bad to be my _vod’ika,_ well now I need you to fucking listen and to fucking trust that I’m saving your fucking life here.’

You try to shake your arm free but his grip is vicelike. ‘Like hell I’m gonna let you be noble and die with me.’

‘Slick, nobody is going to die.’

‘Guys?’

‘We’re all going to fucking die, I just don’t want either of you to die any sooner than you have to--’

The door opens. You all freeze. Your heart pounds so loudly in your head you think you might die on the spot. Golden light fills the room, flickering in and out and all around. You’re frozen with fear. You can’t think. All you can see is golden light.

‘Occupied!’ Niko is suddenly in front of the door. ‘Find your own room!’

The door shuts. You stare slack jawed at Niko. ‘What the fuck did you just do.’

‘Exactly what you did earlier?’ he looks uncertain.

‘You shut the fucking door on fucking General Skwalker--’

‘That... wasn’t General Skywalker,’ Dogma says.

You look at him. ‘What? It was, I saw--’

‘That was a brother.’ He’s speaking slowly, firmly. ‘Slick, you’ve got yourself into such a tizzy you’re jumping at shadows. That was not General Skywalker. That was a _vod._ ’

You blink at him, trying to comprehend. ‘But I saw...’

‘Your mind is playing tricks on you, Slick. Come sit down.’

You let him pull you down to the floor. The gears are grinding rusty in your mind. ‘That... wasn’t Skywalker?’

‘That wasn’t Skywalker.’

Dogma can’t fib for shit. You know he’s telling the truth. You nod. ‘Hehe. Tizzy.’

‘Oh my god.’

You sag against him. He puts his arm around you. Niko sits down so his legs touch yours.

‘You can’t turn yourself in, okay, Slick?’ Dogma says. ‘We don’t know what he knows. You can’t throw yourself away on a chance like that.’

It takes you a moment to remember what he’s talking about. You nod.

‘Besides, I’m sure whatever _osik_ left your mouth would not help my and Niko’s case.’

You laugh weakly. You’re going to live, at least for today, and he’s holding you, so maybe that won’t be so bad. He’s warm. Niko is warm.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, some of you may notice i added an archive warning! for those of you that didn't notice, there is rape/non-con in this chapter. it is not explicitly detailed, but mind the tag folks.
> 
> i also clarified some of the beginning note tags, some minor changes there.
> 
> changed a few details from previous chapters:  
>  \- in chapter 1 theres a reference to squad size from before i decided how big squads were, fixed that  
>  \- made anakin Tall because i realised nobody can stop me  
>  \- realised that the 212th is in fact orange and not yellow and replaced mentions of the colour of their armor in previous chapters
> 
> finally i would like to invite all of you to come cry with me about clone troopers over the song [velodrome by dessa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6c8KyRcT020) its so fucking good;;;

You sleep with Shiner again, ostensibly to thank him proper and give him his pants back, but you’re also grateful for another person who saw you weak and didn’t flag you up for it. It’s getting real tricky to find some privacy with all the extra people about, but his bunkroom turns out to be miraculously empty, and you both shout enough explicatives at the unlucky fucker who walks in halfway through for him to immediately turn tail and walk back out again without taking any potshots.

Afterwards you lie together in his bunk, bodies close and sticky with sweat. The rain didn't help the heat any, but no matter how hot and humid it gets you'll never be over the feeling of lying close to another person. His lips brush against the shell of your ear and you close your eyes, happy.

He traces his hand along your hip. 'You need some ink.'

You look at him. His vague smile is beautiful. 'Do I now.'

'You're a blank canvas. You've only got your hair.'

You think about it. It's scary, in a lot of ways, the idea of standing out. But you don't want to tell him that. 'I don't know what I'd get.'

'Get whatever. You have a lot of room.'

'Well how'd you pick yours?'

He runs his hand along the geometric tattoo splayed across his collarbones like a necklace. 'I wanted something here. Because it's secret, but only just. So I just picked a design I liked.'

You lean in and kiss the tattoo, suck on the spot to hear his breath catch, after which point you do not get the chance to ask him about his other tattoos.

You go to breakfast feeling good, even as the ominous haze of reality begins to settle back in around you, and find Dogma and Niko and sit down with them. 'You look cheerful,' Dogma comments.

'That a crime now?' You grin at him.

'I'm just  _ glad, _ is all.' He rolls his eyes.  _ 'Di'kut. _ What were you doing, anyway?'

'Wouldn't you like to know.'

'Ah.'

'What was he doing?' Niko whispers behind his hand.

'Fucking someone.'

'Ohhhh.'

You chuckle and drink your caf. 'You should try it sometime, Dogma. Real mood booster.'

Dogma's mouth puckers. 'Who says I haven't?'

It's meant to be offhand, by his pitch, but he's still not a good liar and there's a sharpness in his eyes. Shit. You hit a sore spot. You hold up your hands. 'You do you,  _ vod.' _

He nods to himself. 'Maybe I should try it sometime,' Niko says, tone playful, seemingly oblivious to Dogma's reaction. Or maybe he isn't. Hard to tell with him.

'I could help you with that.' You wouldn't've gone for it on your own, but you do like him, and it's better you than some random brother he could talk himself into trouble with. He's cute. You're sure he'd have takers.

'That'd be nice of you.' He smiles, trapping his lower lip between his front teeth. Shit, he's flirting, real ass flirting. You wonder where he learned that; it definitely wasn't from Dogma. You give Dogma a glance. He's looking at his breakfast. Maybe you shouldn't be having this conversation right now.

'Later,  _ vod'ika,'  _ you tell him. 'Do either of you know what we're doing today?'

'No,' Dogma says. 'I've been keeping my ears open. We're heading out again soon, but there's still a lot of people in medbay. Leadership is letting that number drop before we all move, because staying here isn't an option; we need to be positioned somewhere with a potential direct shot through the blockade. We're running out of bacta.'

Fuck but you're grateful for Dogma. 'Thanks,' you say, and then your stomach drops. Punch. 'I've got something to check on,' you say, hastily finishing your breakfast. 'I'll see you guys later.'

They both say goodbye, Dogma looking at you concernedly. You go to medbay and look for either signs of Punch or the medic with the mohawk. A lot of the beds are occupied. Almost all the beds are occupied. You try not to look at any of your brothers, and fail, because you're still trying to find Punch. You're starting to feel lightheaded, sipping at the air. You quickly stop looking and just try to find a medic instead.

You don't see mohawk, but you do find nickname guy. Fine. You'll just do it this way.

You wait for him to be done with what he's doing, and then flag him over. 'Hey,' he says, eyes crinkling in recognition as he smiles. You wonder why, and how, he keeps recognising you. You don't have any paint and you can't be the only fucker around here with a borderline-long undercut. He must speak to dozens of people every day. Maybe he just acts like he recognises everybody to boost morale. 'How are you doing?'

'I'm fine.' It's a complete and total lie, but whatever, that's not what you're here for. He doesn't look like he believes you, but you press on before he can say anything. 'I'm here for one of my men, he was supposed to have recovered by now. Punch. CT-9-4155.'

'He's fine, honey. Kaz released him earlier today.'

You breathe a sigh of relief. 'Okay. Thank you.'

'Now sit.'

You puff out a breath. You had a feeling this was going to happen. You sit and let him scan you. ‘How’s your friend?’ he asks while he does it. ‘Cutie tattootie, I mean.’

You blink. ‘E-excuse me?’

‘Big V tattoo?’

You’re still coming to terms with Dogma being referred to thusly. ‘Um... yeah. He’s fine. Didn’t get hurt. Listen, I have been following your instructions, Doc. Spending more time with my  _ vode _ and everything.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. How’s your stress levels?’

‘Um. Okay.’

He gives you a look. You give him a look back. ‘It’s a war zone, Doc. What do you expect.’

‘Nicky. My name’s Nicky.’

You can guess how he got it. ‘Nicky, then. I’m okay, I’ll just be a lot more okay once this campaign’s over.’

‘Okay. You still getting decent sleep?’

‘Yes.’ At the wrong times, but you are getting enough of it. ‘At least four hours a cycle, still. Do you pester all your patients this much?’

‘I don’t get a lot of time out of the medbay, I gotta snatch y’all when you come by.’ It’s the first time you’ve heard something approaching tiredness from him. Your eyes fall on the bags under his.

‘You getting enough sleep, Doc? Nicky?’

He chuckles. ‘Yeah, I am. Full five. What’s your name, sweetheart?’

‘Slick.’ You feel weirdly vulnerable.

‘Thank you, Slick.’ He puts his hand on your shoulder. ‘I’m looking after myself. It’s about the best we can do right now.’

You nod, still feeling shy. You can’t quite look at his face. ‘You do the same, okay?’ he says.

You swallow a lump forming in your throat. ‘Okay.’

He touches your cheek briefly. ‘I gotta get back to work. I’ll see you again later, okay?’

‘Okay.’

He walks away. Your vision swims in front of you for a few moments.

Right. Punch. You get up and head back to your barracks.

Punch is there, sitting on his bunk and talking to the brother with the tattoo above his eyebrow who was there the first time you went to check on him. ‘Sarge!’ Punch says, grinning at you. ‘Full recovery!’

‘So I heard.’ Something warm and airy and painful is filling your chest. You’re happy for the fucker, you really, really are. ‘I see these fuckos saw fit to let you have your berth back.’ You nod in the direction of the couple of 212th brothers currently hanging out here chatting.

‘All I had to do was say they just let me out of medical,’ he says, smiling again with an airy shrug, and okay, maybe your rack invaders are decent people.

‘Who’s this?’ You ask, nodding at his  _ vod _ in an attempt to be friendly.

‘Sketch, sir,’ he in question says. ‘CT-9-0786. From Viper Squad.’ They seem close, sitting with only a foot or so between them on the bed.

You’re out of things to say. You just nod to them. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re alright, Trooper.’

‘Thanks.’

You leave, a little gracelessly, but you did earn your minimum good sergeant points for the day, and you really are happy the kid’s alive, relief still stabbing you in the chest. You wish you had more than one cigarette left, but you’re not about to waste it on today, when despite the twinges you feel decent, and decently real.

You wind up being a little too obvious about how little you have to do, walking around aimlessly, and get caught by the captain of Preacher Company and put on cleaning duty. You don’t actually mind, as long as what you’re cleaning isn’t dishes, and it isn’t, just floors. You get quite a few floors mopped, glad for a task you can focus on to power you through til dinner, and then afterwards you have prayer circle again.

You thought about this, and you’re ready. You’re not the first in the room anymore. Kipper is there, and he smiles at you. ‘Hi, Sergeant-- Slick.’

‘Hi, Kipper. How are you doing?’

‘Good, sir. Uh, sorry.’

‘You’re fine.’

‘One of my friends got out of medbay this afternoon.’ He smiles.

Your chest aches. ‘Full recovery?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. One of my men did today, too.’

‘I’m glad to hear.’

Another trooper comes in. You look around. ‘Have you met Spike?’ You gesture him over.

‘No.’

You introduce them and leave them to talk, hoping Spike’ll be nicer to the kid than you’re able to be. You stand off to the side and breathe in, preparing what you’re going to say. You don’t know if it’s good; you don’t know how you feel about it. But it’s something, and you think about Kipper and his earnest eyes and know you’re doing the right thing.

More people arrive. More than you were expecting. More than a dozen. Dogma and Niko are included, and stand by you as you watch some fifteen brothers gather.

Holy fuck.

You glance at Dogma and Niko. Dogma looks slack jawed, Niko in his usual vague curiosity. A good third of them are in 212th orange. You’re starting to feel a lot less confident about your decisions. Still, you clear your throat. ‘Uh. Do you guys know if anyone else is coming?’

You get a few answers in the negative. ‘Okay,’ you say. Take a deep breath. ‘Have a seat, then.’

You kneel on the stone floor. They all sit or kneel grouped around you. You are acutely aware of the sweat trickling down your neck. ‘I wanted to say a few words before we get into it. Since this is um, taking off.’ You smile nervously, falling easily back into your established persona, earnest and shy and caring. Some of the guys smile back. They all have their helmets off. Your eyes drag across them for a few moments. You see Kipper and his bright eyes. You take a deep breath.

‘I’ve been thinking about things. About how hard things have been.’ You look down at your hands, worrying them. It’s like the persona is acting without you. You’re glad you have that mask. ‘I started this because I was ready to try anything that could give us an edge. Anything that might keep more of our brothers alive. And you’re all here because of the hope that gives us. The idea that we’re doing something.

‘But I’ve been thinking about it, and I realised... we’re not going to be okay. Even if the force helps us, it’s not going to be okay. Something’s going to go wrong. People are going to die. Things are going to break. And that’s inevitable, because we’re at war.’ You look out at them all without looking at them, keeping your eyes between their faces, away from their eyes and brows and jaws and mouths. If you get feedback now, you might lose your nerve. ‘If we pray for everyone to be safe, it’s never going to work. This isn’t a safe situation. You can’t watch everyone’s six. The generals can’t watch everyone’s six. The force can’t watch everyone’s six.’ You swallow. ‘But... maybe there’s still something we can save. Maybe if we just pick one thing, one or two or three people to hold onto as tight as we can-- Look, no one of us can help everyone. But if you watch someone’s back, and someone else watches yours, and we just try to get one damn person out of the war alive-- maybe some of us will succeed.’

You finally focus your vision and look at all of them. You see thoughtfulness, uncertainty, grimness, fear, understanding. You take a deep breath. ‘Anyway. That’s my thoughts on it. I’m not going to tell you what to pray for; prayer’s too personal for that. But I’m going to pray for my friends to survive. Not because I don’t care about anyone else. But because if you pull yourself too taut, anything can break you. I’d rather succeed at saving a couple people, than fail at saving everyone.’

They’re all quiet. Your words hang heavy in the air. You know this isn’t the mindset you all grew up with-- you have to protect the whole, you have to protect the Republic, you have to protect your  _ brothers-- _ but it was the only thing you could think of that might get the shinier among them covering each other’s asses instead of hoping the force will save them.

You feel sick. But you explain the prayer for the newcomers and sit quietly with your eyes closed.

You pray for Kipper too, this time. Pray he and his friend who just got out of medical and all the rest of his  _ vode _ survive, at least for a while. Pray they’ll do what they need to keep each other alive.

Please, fuck. Please.

Afterwards some of the 212th are interested in talking to you, three bastards with chipped paint who have got to have seen some action. One of them, shaved head with a goat patch, is looking at you consideringly. ‘That was an interesting sermon.’

You look at him warily, heart in your throat, not sure what he means, not sure what he knows or figured out, terrified. One of his friends elbows him, laughing. ‘Don’t terrify the kid, asshole. What my  _ di’ku’vod _ is trying to say is he liked it. It’s some good food for thought.’

You aren’t reassured. ‘Thanks.’

‘It’s smart,’ goat patch says. ‘Smarter than the aphorisms. And they say the 501st are all  _ jare’la.’ _

You shrug. ‘We are all  _ jare’la.’ _ That earns you some laughter, which in turn earns you a little confidence, regaining control of the conversation. ‘That’s why I’m telling these assholes to have their friends’ sixes. No-one else is gonna.’

‘You’re alright,  _ vod.’ _ Goat patch offers you a fist bump which you oblige him. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Slick.’

‘I’m Madden, this is Corner and Jetset.’

You nod to them. Jetset is the one who stood up for you. He grins. ‘You should hang out with us sometime, Sergeant. Madden here likes philosophy.’

You think you would rather literally shoot yourself in the foot than discuss philosophy with anyone who isn’t Dogma or Niko, but you let the corners of your mouth quirk. ‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe,’ Madden echos, and grins at you. He has prominent canines. He doesn’t sound teasing, and you’re way too intimidated to be able to sniff out his meaning. ‘We’ll get out of your hair.’

‘Thanks.’

They walk away, Jetset elbowing Madden again. You look for Dogma and Niko, who are waiting for you.

‘What did they want?’ Dogma asks, wrinkling his nose.

‘Just some asshole  _ ori’vode _ who can’t be normal about saying they liked it.’ You shrug. You’re unsettled by the encounter, but mostly just by the idea of sharing any more of your thoughts with Madden. You don’t think they’re necessarily anything to worry about. Necessarily. ‘They invited me to hang out with them. I’ll have to make some excuse.’

Niko giggles behind his hand. ‘They’re probably better company than us,’ Dogma says.

‘Where the fuck did that come from?’ you ask, startled. ‘I love you bastards. I’m watching your sixes.’

An emotion passes Dogma’s face, and it’s probably the first one you’ve failed to properly identify there. It looks a little stricken, a little taken aback, a little painful. You wonder if that’s what he looks like when he’s trying not to cry. That’s the sort of statement that would make you cry, sap that you are. You sling your arm around his shoulders. ‘Come on. Let’s go goof off.’

In the hallway you’re stopped by a brother with unpainted armor and a geometric tattoo over one eyebrow. ‘Are you Sergeant Slick?’ he asks.

‘I am.’ You’re wary. It’s quite likely just more prayer circle bullshit, but you’re wary all the same.

‘I’d like to talk to you. In private.’

You glance at Dogma and Niko. ‘What about?’

He lowers his voice. ‘It’s not something you’re going to want me saying out here.’

Your heart jumps to your throat. You can hear your blood pounding in your ears. Your vision is growing dark at the edges. ‘What do you want,’ you growl.

‘To talk to you alone.’

‘I’m coming too,’ Dogma says.

‘No.’ You hold a hand out towards him. Again, it’s not a decision you make, it’s just instinct. You don’t know how much this guy knows. If he thinks he has something on you... he needs to keep thinking he just has something on you.

He smiles slightly. Your stomach flips. You don’t know what this is, but you know it can’t be good. ‘Let’s go talk,’ he says.

You walk away with him. You don’t look back at Dogma and Niko. You don’t look at anything until you find an empty room and shut the door behind yourself, and then you look at his face without seeing it.

‘What is this about,’ you ask, still growling. You have absolutely no control of what you’re doing here. You just know that if you die today, you’re not taking Niko and Dogma with you.

He smirks coldly. ‘Heard a few things the other night.’

You might die from heart attack. ‘Tell me what you heard.’

‘Enough to interest the higher ups.’

You’re dead. You’re dying. You surge forward and attack him, knocking an empty crate to the side, but he overpowers you easily and slams you with an uppercut and jabs you in the stomach and twists you into a chokehold. You struggle and fight like a dying animal, flailing, desperate for purchase, desperate for anything at all. You scream and he stuffs his fist in your mouth, and when you bite him he yanks your lower jaw down and pain shoots up through your face and makes you see stars. He lets go of you and kicks you to the floor. ‘Don’t try that again.’

The world is dark and spinning. You choke on a pathetic sound, gasping for air. You don’t have it in you to try to scream again and pray whoever comes takes your side. Whatever he did to your jaw hurts like a motherfuck. Your body is so heavy. Everything is so heavy.

With effort you push yourself to be sitting and glare up at him through your bangs and wrench your jaw back into alignment. You can’t tell if you’re imagining the taste of blood. Everything swims for a moment, but then you remember: your top priority is to keep Niko and Dogma alive. Everything else, everything you are, comes second.

‘What do you want?’ you spit, staring the  _ hut’uun _ straight in the eye. You recognise what you see there. You know what he’s getting out of this. Power. Control. Everything none of you have.

Some part of you understands it straight to the bone. More than just some part. You’re flooded with deep, bitter comprehension. It doesn’t stop you from hating every last cell of the fucker’s body, from praying, begging for him to drop dead.

Please, fuck. Please.

He doesn’t. Instead he tells you exactly what he wants. You’re not surprised. It’s like you told Shiner: sex is all you have to offer.

‘You know how this works,’ he says in your ear, voice low. ‘You tell, I tell. Even your little friends.’

You don’t say anything. You don’t have anything to say.

Dogma and Niko are waiting outside your barracks, Dogma pacing like a mother wolf. He runs up to you the instant he sees you. ‘That’s  _ blood,’ _ he says, too loudly, and you wince. You shake your head, hoping beyond hope he’ll understand without words. He might, because he doesn’t say anything else beyond that point, but he takes you by both your forearms. Your vision is popping with black circles.

‘Let me lie down,’ you say, and he nods. Despite you not quite seeing straight, you’re not lost in yourself, reality’s not spinning or falling apart. Everything’s clear. You’re aware of your every movement, every little breath.

He lets go of one of your arms and takes you inside by the other. The pretty brother with the diamonds in her hair is sitting on your bunk, talking to a friend. The idea of getting her to move off of it is fucking incomprehensible, and you begin to unravel with it, but then she sees you and covers her mouth. ‘Oh my god,’ she says, hopping up. ‘Are you okay?’

‘He got in a fight,’ Dogma says. His voice is empty. You lie down on your bunk gratefully.

‘The other guy looks worse,’ you supply. Your jaw hurts to move.

‘I’m gonna get a medic,’ somebody says.

‘Don’t, asshole,’ you say, and it really is a miracle you’re talking right now, huh. Really is a miracle you know what to say. ‘Captain’ll kill me.’

‘Hardass, huh.’

‘About this? Yeah.’

Someone has their hands on your armor and you look wildly around, but it’s just Dogma, and he’s just taking off your boots for you. You can’t see his face. He’s keeping it angled inwards so nobody can.

‘Here.’ It’s Diamonds. She’s holding out a hand towel. Black. Blood won’t stain. ‘Do you want me to mop you up?’

‘Please.’

She spits on the towel and uses it to wipe the congealing blood off your chin. Dogma takes off your knee plates. You focus on staying calm and breathing steadily. It’s dead quiet in here. You can’t see anyone past Dogma and Diamonds, but you know all the attention is focused on you.

‘You sure we shouldn’t get a medic? Internal damage will fuck you up,’ the same guy says. ‘Did you get punched in the stomach?’

‘I had my armor on,’ you say. ‘And no, anyway.  _ Shabuir _ mostly aimed for my face.’

‘You got off lucky, then,’ Diamonds says. ‘Because I can’t see very much damage. Looks like a bruise is forming on your chin, though, you’re gonna have to explain that one. Did they get you in the mouth?’

‘Yeah. Don’t worry. Wasn’t a very long fight.’

‘Who was it, anyway?’ asks someone you can’t see. Jester, you think. He sounds dead worried. ‘I think maybe we should report...’

‘It was stupid,’ you say. ‘Not worth reporting. He’ll lick his wounds, I’ll lick mine, it’ll be like nothing happened. Y’all can stop fawning.’

‘But what if he reports you?’ Off come your cuisses.

‘You’re shiny, Jester. He’s not gonna. He picked it anyway. Just bit off more than he could chew. Just some stupid asshole I don’t even know. Working off some pent up energy, I bet. It’s not worth getting him in trouble for. And he’s not gonna get himself in trouble, nobody’s that stupid, and if he’s that noble the worst I’ll get is a slap on the wrist anyway. Y’all never seen some beat up bastard before? I can’t be the most interesting thing in the room.’

‘You’d be surprised,’ somebody says quietly.

‘You just look like real shit, Sarge. You look like you’re going to drop dead any second,’ Jester says, voice still damnably worried.

‘Great, thanks.’

‘Look,’ Dogma says, raising his voice. ‘I’m his bloody  _ ori’vod _ and you can all take a hint and leave him alone.  _ Di’kut _ already got punched, he doesn’t need a fucking comments section.’

His voice is fierce, and for a moment you just straight up love him, knowing him a tenday be damned. Then it fades back into the pain.

Your onlookers disperse, except for Dogma, Niko, and Diamonds, the latter of which speaks quietly to Dogma. ‘Look, if he needs anything...’

Dogma nods solemnly. ‘Thanks.’

‘And before you get noble, keep the bunk,’ she says, looking down at you. ‘I’ll kip with one of these assholes.’

You grunt with something that may be a laugh, but probably isn’t. She walks away. Dogma takes her place by your head, continuing to divest you of your armor. Niko sits on the bunk by your feet. Dogma meets your eyes in a pained, searching look, like he’s trying to say a lot without saying any of it.

You shake your head again. You hope he understands. You hope you understand.

You slowly sit up. ‘No, stay lying,’ Dogma says.

‘I’m not that hurt, Dogma. Just tired.’

‘Okay.’

You light your last cigarette.


	10. Chapter 10

You don’t sleep well. You talked Dogma and Niko both out of staying, and some traitorous-- hah!-- part of you regrets it even as you’re glad to be alone. You stare at the underside of the bunk above you, not tossing and turning much but unable to get comfortable, rehashing the scene in your head.

If the soundproofing in this base was better--

If you had let Dogma come with you--

If you weren’t such a pathetic fuckup--

You get up on an hour of sleep, not able to take it anymore, and go take a sonic you’ve been desperately wanting but unable to face for the past few hours. Give yourself a good thorough scrub. There’s some bruises forming on your body. Good thing nobody has to see you naked but you.

You go clean your armor next. It’s overdue for it. You don’t want to wake the rest of the people in your barracks by turning on the light so you go find an empty room and lay all your armor out piece by piece on the floor and go through and polish the fuck out of them. Polish them enough you could pass for a shiny again. Polish them enough to make Dogma proud.

You’re crying. Why are you crying so much these days?

You put your armor on, suddenly self conscious of how clean it is. You couldn’t quite buff out all the scuffs and scratches, but nobody cleans their armor this well except commanders showing the rest of y’all up, real rose-eyed shinies trying to do the best they can, and Dogma, who always looks impeccable. You look around for some dirty back hallway to amend it a little but all the floors just got mopped, so you just drop all your stuff at your bunk, including your shell, but then walking around in just your blacks makes you feel jumpy too so you go and put it back on.

You don’t know what to do with yourself besides just walk around and ignore how much your body hurts. You have your kriffing helmet on, for fuck’s sake. You must look insane.

You are insane.

Maybe you should just go turn yourself in. Maybe that would make a lot of things easier.

‘Slick.’ You hear your name and stop and turn. Dogma is there, in just his blacks. You wonder how he recognised you. You don’t even look like yourself anymore. You stand there like a gormless idiot.

‘Come talk to me,’ he says, and then you walk with him, and then you’re in the room you use for prayer. He reaches up and pulls your bucket for you. ‘You’re a mess, Slick.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ Your jaw hurts when you move it, somewhere around the joint near your ears, vivid, violent pain that draws all your attention to it.

‘You have to take care of yourself and stop being so fucking self sacrificing and let me fix you.’

You look at him, not tracking.

‘Because you sure as hell don’t seem to know that.’

‘Dogma, I-- I don’t think I can be fixed.’ You don’t think there’s any way forward but down.

‘Help you, then. Make sure you don’t die. Make you happy again.’

Your brain processes it all slowly, trying to connect the dots. ‘When did you start caring about me so much?’

‘When you told me not being my friend would kill you.’

He’s crying, fuck, he’s crying. You reach out to wipe the tears off his face, not really sure what you’re doing. ‘Nobody’s ever wanted to be my fucking friend before,’ he says, leaning into your hand. ‘I mean Niko, yeah, but I came to him. I offered to save him. And when he lost everything, I was the only option he had.’

‘Keep your voice down.’

‘Sorry.’ He looks at you, brown eyes pleading. ‘You just... you wanted me, Slick. Nobody’s ever wanted me before.’

You hug him, just pull him close to your chest and hold him tight and bury your face against the hair sprouting up since his last buzz, kitten soft as you nuzzle it one way, prickly as you nuzzle it the other. He holds you just as tight, rubs his face against the side of your head too like you can’t mark each other enough, like somehow enough touch will be enough to keep everything else at bay.

_‘Ner ori’vod,’_ you whisper, repeat to him like a mantra. _‘Ner ori’vod, ner ori’vod, ner ori’vod--’_ Mine, mine, mine, mine.

_‘Ner vod’ika.’_ He cuts off your pleading with two soft, firm words. He pulls away from nuzzling your head, still holding you close, and searches your face for something. ‘Slick. You have to tell me what happened.’

‘He’ll hurt you.’

‘He’s not here. He won’t know.’

‘You can’t do anything about it.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘What if he hears.’

‘Whisper it to me.’

You lean in, nuzzle your face up beside his to whisper in his ear. For some reason the gesture makes you feel like you’re going to barf for a moment. But you tell him anyway. You can’t see his face. You can just feel him holding you tight, feel him breathe, feel his breath stutter and his body tense.

‘Slick, that’s horrible.’ He’s whispering too.

Yeah. Yeah, you realise dimly. It was.

You suddenly, violently want to crawl out of your skin, want to throw your body around like a dying fish, want to scream until you die for real. But you don’t want to let go of Dogma, so instead of any of that you just squeeze him tighter even as you start to shake. He matches you strength for strength, and your body aches with the pressure, plastic armour cutting in at the edges, but it’s good. It's good.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ you whisper, ‘I don’t know what to do--’

‘Shh. Don’t do anything. Not right now. I’ll figure it out, I promise. All you have to do is wait for me to figure it out.’

‘I don’t want you getting hurt.’ You can take anything anyone throws at you. You couldn’t handle anyone daring to touch Dogma. ‘Dogma, you have to stay safe.’

‘Fuck you,’ he whispers tenderly. ‘I’m getting us out of this.’

And some deep dark part of you feels hopeful. It drowns in the rest of you, in the knowledge that you’re never making it out of this alive-- but it’s there.

You cling to him, out of things to say. It'll be a miracle if he can figure this out. If he can somehow make this all go back to normal, where you're all rank and file troopers fighting and joking with the rest of them all, playing cards in the commons and running practice drills on a base that has space for that and complaining about cleaning duty. Laughing and drinking and giving as good as you get for teasing when you stop to nuzzle each other's faces. You'd like that, you think. There's no stopping the fact that you're going to die someday, and probably someday soon. But it would be nice to be a little less miserable. To only carry the sort of misery you can share.

'Slick,' he says. He's still whispering, mouth close to your ear so you catch every word. You feel marginally safer. 'What did he know? I need you to tell me.'

'I don't know. He wouldn't tell me. He just knew something. He knew enough to target me.'

'It might not be that bad.'

Something in your chest shatters at the thought. Was this for nothing? 'No, he-- I know he knew. We've talked-- we've talked about so many things we shouldn't. Of course someone overheard.' Your voice trembles. It's your fault, really: you should've been more watchful, more insistent about staying quiet, more careful about what you said.

'Okay.'

You rest your head on his shoulder, trembling again. He strokes your hair. You can remember him doing that, at the beginning. The little hair touches he gives Niko as praise. Doing the same to you once or twice. That feels like ages ago, even though you know it wasn't. Even though you know you've known this man a tenday, maybe a tenday and a half, and a smarter man would know this is one of the ways you can get yourself in trouble.

Good thing you're so fucking stupid. It feels nice, his hand in your hair.

'You need a haircut,' he whispers.

'I know.'

'I'll give you one. I'll just trim the top instead of buzzing it so you can still keep it long.'

That more than anything fills you with endless gratitude. You choke a little. 'Okay.'

'Do you want to go do that now?'

You don't want to stop holding him. You shake your head against his shoulder. 'Later.'

'Okay.'

You just stand there for a while, holding each other, his fingers carding through your hair. Your mind keeps trying to find thoughts, summoning the outlines of fears, before they all dissipate, again and again.

‘Dogma?’ you say eventually.

‘Yes?’

‘I gotta go piss.’

He laughs, even giggles, just this strange happy little noise, and you grin at him. Your jaw hurts like fuck.

He walks you to a bathroom. ‘I’m going to get my hair cutting supplies,’ he says. ‘Wait by the sinks for me.’

You do the necessary, wash your hands, and then wait like he said. You catch sight of yourself in the mirrors and it fills you with such a sense of awful dread that you look away and don’t look again. Another brother comes in. He doesn’t have any paint. Fear floods you. You’re rooted to the spot, eyes wide, not breathing. You’re alone, you’re vulnerable, even as he disappears into a stall. You wish you had your helmet on, he can see everything on your face, he can see everything you are, you’re not safe. You’re not safe here.

Your eyes fall on your helmet held under your arm. Your vision tunnels around it. You wish you had your helmet on. You wish you had your helmet on. You wish you had your helmet on.

You hear the stall door creak open and you jam your helmet on your head very fast. The guy doesn’t look around. You catch sight of his face in the mirror while he washes his hands. Tattoo across the bridge of his nose. No tattoo over his eyebrow. Your body sags with relief.

You guess you sit down, because you’re on the floor now. The guy looks around. ‘You alright buddy?’

‘Yes. No. Wait, yes.’

‘Uh.’

‘Drunk,’ you lie haphazardly.

‘Fuck, I didn’t think we had enough booze left on base.’

‘Nygh. Fuckin 212th stash.’

‘Damn. You got any left?’

‘Nope.’

‘Figures.’

He leaves, thankfully. Dogma comes in. ‘You doing okay, Slick?’

‘Mmn.’ You accept his hand up.

‘I can go get a chair from the commons if you need to sit.’

‘No.’ You don’t want him to leave you again.

‘Okay.’ He takes off your helmet for you and sets it down on the counter. ‘You’re going to have to kneel for me to reach.’

You kneel. He cards his hand through your hair. ‘Do you want the same haircut?’

‘Yeah.’ You like your undercut. Besides, you don’t think changing hairstyles will save you.

‘Okay. I don’t have any combs, your sides are going to have to be a zero.’

‘That’s fine.’

You close your eyes to avoid looking at yourself in the mirror, just listen to the buzz of the electric razor as he starts it up. He’s careful, slow, methodical. His hands are warm and firm. You hold your head still, and try to hold your mind still, even as it delves to ruinous places there in the dark.

You can’t think about it directly; at least there’s that. Instead it just comes in at odd angles and snatches and the ghosts of sensation. You suppress a shiver, and focus as hard as you can on the razor pressing solid against your scalp. How the parts of your head where he’s shaved the hair away feel cooler, exposed to the air. The hair tickling your ears as it falls away.

But this isn’t the only, thing, is it. This didn’t make everything else go away. You’re still a traitor. You’re still defective. Niko’s still a traitor, and defective. Dogma’s still a traitor. Skywalker still might know about you. You still can’t breathe when you get scared. You still can’t control what you do when you get stressed out. You’re still out of cigarettes. You still look like you’re dead. Your squad’s still worried. Captain Rex is still worried. Nicky is still hounding you to get better. There’s still dozens of brothers in the beds in medical. You’re still at war. You’re still running out of bacta. You’re still going to die. Dogma and Niko are still going to die. Shiner is still going to die. Kipper and Target and all the rest of the sweet-eyed shinies are still going to die. Spike and Madden and all the rest of your thoughtful congregation are still going to die. Your squad, Gus and Jester and Chopper and Punch, are all still going to die. Punch’s friend Sketch is still going to die. Diamonds and the rest of her bunk-stealing squad are still going to die. Nicky, and the medic with the mohawk, and whoever Kaz is, are still going to die. Everyone in medical is still going to die, even if they don’t die this time. Kipper’s friend who got out of medical is still going to die. Captains Rex and Ceyda are still going to die. The captain of Preacher Company who stuck you on cleaning duty is still going to die. Dogma and Niko’s squadmates, the two guys bullying Niko with the wrong name, and whoever their sergeant is, are still going to die. Shiner’s friends who wolf whistled at you are still going to die. The guys singing through their kitchen shift are still going to die, and so is the dude with the headache you took over dish duty for. The two guys looking for a place to fuck, who you chased off, are still going to die. The guy you mistook for Skywalker is still going to die. The guy who walked in on you and Shiner fucking is still going to die. The guy with the nose tattoo is still going to die. Everyone you tripped on running to Dogma and Niko’s barracks to see if they were alive is still going to die. The guy you had half a conversation with about some Seppie bullshit when you had still only just met Dogma and Niko is still going to die. Every person you talk to and see and touch is a dead man walking, even your fucking rapist.

‘You’re okay, Slick.’ Dogma’s voice cuts through your thoughts, soft. He presses a kiss to the back of your head where the skin is now bared.

Something in you shatters. A whimper you aren’t fast enough to catch escapes you.

Everything going on, and that kiss feels like the entire goddamn galaxy.

‘You’re okay, Slick.’ The buzz of the razor goes quiet and you hear him set it down on the counter. He runs his hand along the side of your head, careful, firm stroking, brushing away little remnants of hairs that make your ears itch as they fall on and past them. ‘You’re okay.’

You try to say something. You don’t know what. It comes out another broken sound. ‘Shh,’ he says, and you shush. A shaving brush whisks against your head, still careful and firm, pressing down, catching all the rest of the hairs. You wonder where he got a shaving brush from. You’re not surprised he has one though. Dogma’s a miracle. ‘You’re okay.’

You can almost believe it. Your mind is blank except for him. ‘You’re okay.’

He pulls a wet comb through your remaining hair. The water feels nice. ‘I’m cutting your hair a little under regulation,’ he tells you, ‘So it has room to grow.’

‘Okay.’ You wouldn’t mind if he did this every day, kept your hair at perfect regulation length, but the care and thought he’s putting into this feel just as good as his steady hands holding your hair straight and judging the length he needs to cut it to. You hear the slow snip of the scissors. Damn, he has scissors, too. You supposed you could have figured that out from context.

You pay attention to every second of the rest of the haircut, mind a stark opposite of what it was just a little ago. It couldn’t wander if you wanted it to. You’re void of thoughts, even only vaguely aware of how grateful you would be for that fact if it was currently tangible to you. ‘You’re okay,’ Dogma says, every minute or so. ‘You’re okay.’

When he says he’s done you run your hands through it, not wanting to look in the mirror again and risk this strange peace. Your hair is damp. It feels lighter. You don’t know how to tell just from touch if he did a good job, but it feels even, and you trust him. You trust his care. ‘Thank you.’

_‘Kih’parjai.’_

You open your eyes to find his hand and kiss it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmmmmmmmnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ToT
> 
> end of act 1 :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> act twoooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

You get some warning before you move out this time. The base is busy with more bastards than it can fit crawling all over it getting everything squared away. You're nervous, you always are when you know this is coming, hands tense. There's nothing for you to do, either, with too many hands on deck. Some lieutenant tells you the most useful thing you can do right now is get out of the damn way, which is how you find yourself tucked off in a corner somewhere. You wish you knew where Niko or Dogma or really any bastard you know was; you hate hate  _ hate _ being alone right now. But at least no-one you don't know is paying you any mind, all focused on whatever the fuck task they've been assigned instead. Maybe you should go to your bunkroom. Maybe there'll be someone there for you to fail to make awkward conversation with.

You snort to yourself, and stay where you are. You've been keeping your helmet on as much as possible, today and yesterday, fully aware of the bruises blossoming on your jaw and the sides of your face and your temple, where you didn't even notice he hit you. You watch passer-bys' feet and pray nobody notices you who isn't one of your boys. If you watch their feet, you won't notice every single person who doesn't have paint. Your vision begins to tunnel.

'Slick?'

You start and look up. It's Shiner. You stand up from your crouch. 'Hey. What's up?'

He shrugs. 'Just have nothing to do.'

Did he seek you out, or just come across you? A strange feeling washes over you. You remember what Dogma said, about nobody ever really wanting him before you. It's not as extreme with you, but it still feels a little surreal. Huh. You didn't think you were having all that good of a track record with him.

'Wondering if you maybe wanted to have some fun before we all go die.'

The bottom of your stomach drops. Of course. That explains it. Cold bitterness and fear flood you. You're frozen.

'Slick?'

You manage to make yourself shake your head. 'Sorry.'

'That's fine. Are you alright?'

It takes you a few seconds to catch up with the situation. 'Slick?' he asks again, while you're still buffering.

'...Mmn?'

'You look fucked up. And I can't even see you.'

You shake your head. 'Just... the usual bullshit.' Lies flash through your mind: you're nervous about the upcoming battle, you're not well but it's normal for you, you got in a fight, you haven't been sleeping properly, one of your friends is still in medical. You aren't able to make a decision. Your shoulders fall in a sigh you don't mean to let out.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you tense. He takes it off again right away. 'Sorry, um... do you want me to leave you alone?'

Yes. No. You don't know. You stifle a whimper.

'Oh, hey, fuck.' He reaches to you but catches himself before he touches you and takes his hand back. You don't look at his face, too ashamed of what you might see there. You wish Dogma were here to talk for you, or Niko. Dogma’s been sticking to your side fiercely since you told him what happened, Niko still always trailing him like a duckling, and you’ve been a whole mix of things about it, ashamed and nervous but mostly grateful. They must've gotten enlisted in all the preparations today.

Shiner goes and tucks himself into your little space with you, not touching you, but you can feel the electric current of heat between you. It makes you feel nervous. But you're glad to not have to make a decision, and you realise you trust him, more or less. You trust him more than you trust everybody else right now.

Fuck. What if something happened to Dogma and Niko. What if he got them. What if leadership got them. What if there was an accident.

Shiner doesn't say anything as you start to silently shake, he just stands next to you while you look at his midriff to avoid his face and tears well in your viewport. You're so fucking ashamed, of all of this. You can't even pretend that you know what to do with yourself anymore. You're just waiting, like Dogma told you to, waiting for him to fix it. You hope he can, before leadership gets you instead.

Shiner stands next to you.

'What are you two doing?' a brother asks. You don't look up.

'Staying out of the way, sir. Like we were told.'

'Carry on.'

You bet you look like a shiny, no paint, helmet on, looking down to avoid a ranking officer, armour still too clean. If it wasn't for the rank marker on your chest you could pass for one. You wish you could pass for one. You wish you could pass for someone else. Tattoo your face, change your haircut, dye your hair, get some paint.

But no. Everyone seems to recognise you, all of the time. You don't know if changing your appearance would fix that at all without getting entirely reassigned. And you can't do that. You're not leaving Dogma and Niko. And besides. You think if you tried to run, he'd tell.

Maybe he's not in Torrent. Maybe there's hope once your companies scatter. Maybe.

If you changed your appearance people would still figure out who you were, and then you'd only be more recognisable. It won't work. You're already as anonymous as you can be, and everyone knows who you are. You can't run away from who you are.

You stand there next to Shiner and swim in despair, unable to do anything else, to think of anything else to do. Shiner leans against the wall, all casual, and stays next to you. You can't for the life of you think of why he hasn't walked away yet. Maybe he doesn't have anything better to do and corners for staying out of the way are running thin. But he stays.

The way to the city center is hot and circuitous. If there's one blessing about this campaign, it's the cityscape, easy terrain and plenty of cover. All the sound goes silent in the summer heat. You just sit back and watch a holo on mute, only vaguely aware of occupying your own body. You don't know how much time passes. It's all a blur. You blink between scenes, parts of buildings falling, blasterfire ripping through the bright sky, General Kenobi's blue lightsaber, droid parts at your feet. Bodies, pale cement. Hands slick with blood. Blown out office buildings under cover of night. Screaming you can't hear but you can see.

You come to in the sonic again, shivering violently, vacant of thoughts but at least present. The noise all floods back at once. It's way too loud. You drop to your knees, flickering in and out of yourself, the noise all coming in in spots, someone toggling you on and off and on and off and on and off again. You lock your hands over the back of your head and try to ride it out. Your jaw and your middle organs and your right leg all scream with pain. It's all so terrifying in a way being on the battlefield wasn't. All you can do is force yourself to stay silent and force yourself to stay breathing.

You don't know when or how it ends, but it must, because slowly you realise you're back in reality again. The noise around you is nothing you're not used to.

You look at your own body like you're rediscovering it. Draw your hands delicately across all the purpling bruises, testing them. Press down a little. The pain is nothing compared to the rest of your body right now.

Something drives you to get up and finish what you're doing and put your fresh blacks on and leave. You keep your head down, trying not to let anyone see. You move swiftly and steadily, and nobody pays you any mind.

Your squad has their own barracks again. It’s a smaller room, but it feels over-empty. Too much attention is on you without all the chatty 212th fuckers. You keep your face angled away from the others, even though you know they know, and set about cleaning your armor. You do it fast, not thorough, just getting the layer of accumulated grime off, getting it white enough for you to feel human again. None of your men bother you. Someone is snoring.

Once your armor is clean you put it on, fingers fast and methodical, only slipping a few times. Then you go look for Dogma and Niko.

You get a lieutenant to tell you where Argon Squad is bunking. When you get there it’s to a screaming row.

‘--isn’t my fault, Slinger! It’s not his fault either!’ You recognise Dogma’s tones.

‘No, you’re just acting like nothing fucking happened!’ You hear a loud crash.

‘What do you fucking expect from me--’

You enter the room. Dogma and one of the other guys you talked to are standing, Niko sitting on a bunk and watching Dogma nervously. The guy, Slinger you guess, is in half his armor, half the rest of it spilled out and his helmet clear across the room. The attention immediately shifts to you. You shut the door behind you. ‘Hi.’

‘Fuck all of you--’ Slinger shouts, breaking off and turning away. He pulls the mattress from the upper bunk behind him onto the floor in a smooth rageful movement. You hear a stifled sob in his voice.

‘Maybe we should leave, Dogma.’

‘Fuck you!’ Slinger yells. He buries his face against the empty bunk frame.

‘Where’s your sergeant?’ you whisper to Dogma, coming in closer to him.

‘I don’t know.’

Slinger  _ screams _ and rattles the bedframe. You wince a little at the noise, but you don’t have to ask what happened. You can guess.

You try to think of something to say, but you can’t. You don’t know the guy, and you can’t fix this. You gesture your head at the door. Dogma nods and gestures Niko up with a similar head gesture. You creep to the door.

‘Fuck you, you don’t get to fucking leave--’ Slinger picks up a shoulder plate and hurls it at you. It bounces off your helmet, which you are very glad you’re wearing right now. ‘You don’t get to fucking leave!’

His voice cracks. He’s howling like an animal. You could probably just run for it. Instead you hold out your hands placatingly. ‘Fuck,  _ vod. _ I know. I know.’

He buries his face in his hands, shaking with tears. ‘What was his name?’ you ask.

‘Rocket. I spose that  _ shabuir _ never mentioned.’

You can put up with Dogma being referred to as such given the circumstances. He never did mention him, you never talk about your squads, but you’re not an idiot. ‘I just wasn’t sure if it was him or someone else.’

His breath catches. ‘Yeah. It was him.’

He sobs quietly into his hands. You try to think of what else to say. ‘Do you want us to leave you alone?’

He shakes his head.

‘Okay,’ you say, and go sit down on a bunk. You’re a little afraid to pull your helmet, but you do. Dogma and Niko sit down with you. Slinger cries.

You sit in silence. His misery isn’t quite contagious, you didn’t know the poor fucker, but your chest still aches and echos.

‘Do you have paint?’ Niko asks eventually.

You all look at him. Slinger seems to have calmed down somewhat. He wipes his eyes fruitlessly. ‘You’ve... seen my armour.’

‘No, I mean, like a bottle of paint. Can I paint something for you?’

‘Um. Yeah, I do.’ He looks taken aback. ‘I guess, yeah.’ He plops down on the lower bunk, hiding his eyes in his hands. ‘It’s in my kit.’

Niko gets up and rummages through his stuff, eventually coming up with a jar of 501st blue and a paintbrush. ‘What are you doing,  _ vod?’ _ Dogma asks.

‘Just painting.’

You have nothing to do but watch him as he finds Slinger’s chestplate and starts to paint it, brow furrowed and focused. Slinger is watching him too between his fingers. He takes a while, brush moving careful and steady. You all watch him in silence.

‘Done,’ he says eventually. ‘Just needs to dry now.’

Slinger gets up to look over his shoulder at his handiwork. His eyes well up with tears again. He presses a hand over them. ‘Is it okay?’ Niko asks.

‘Yeah.’ Slinger’s voice trembles. ‘Yeah, it is.’ He sobs quietly. ‘You’re... you’re alright, Spacecase.’

‘My name’s Niko.’

‘You’re alright, Niko.’

You get up to see what he painted. Full across the chest is Rocket’s name, underlined with a rocket launcher, a missile leaving a trail winding between the letters. Your breath catches too. Niko looks up at you.

‘It looks perfect,  _ vod.’ _ You touch his hair.

Slinger sits down hard. ‘Fucking perfect,’ he echoes, voice wavering. He looks up at you too, seemingly noticing you for the first time. ‘Fuck,  _ vod. _ You look like you got fucked by a dump truck.’

You snort as ice cold bitterness fills your chest. The room is suddenly too bright, too close. Everything’s blurry. ‘Shit’ll do that to you. Are you gonna be okay,  _ vod?’ _

‘Yeah. Maybe.’

‘Cause I got some people I gotta check on.’ It’s a lie, but you have to get out of here.

He nods. ‘Go... go do that.’

‘Thanks.'

You leave with Dogma and Niko. In the hallway you pull yourself to Dogma and bury your face in his shoulder. 'You're okay,  _ vod'ika,' _ he mutters, and runs his hand through your hair. 'You did good. Let's find some privacy.'

'I'm glad you're okay,' you rasp.

'All safe and tallied.' He rearranges you so you can walk, and walks with you down the hallway, Niko walking so close to him that they're touching.

'Where'd you learn to paint like that,  _ vod?' _ You ask softly.

'I did all my squad's armour.'

Dogma stops to stare at him. You're startled by him stopping but after a second grasp why. Holy fuck. Dogma reaches up and pulls Niko's head to his, pressing their foreheads together. You glance around the hallway nervously. You're alone.

'Let's keep walking,' Dogma says after a moment, and takes Niko's hand and keeps walking along. You find an empty room.

'You remembered something!' Dogma whispers excitedly once you're alone, pulling Niko into a one-armed hug, the other arm still around you.

'I guess,' Niko whispers back, but he's laughing, happy.

'Can you remember anything else about it?'

'Um.' He thinks for a few moments. 'I-- I don't know.'

'That's okay,  _ vod'ika, _ I'm happy for you.'

You're happy for him too, enough to outshine the rest of your emotions for a nice moment, though as you think it your stomach twists again. Dogma squeezes your side, and you appreciate the comfort but your breath still catches.

'Oh,' he looks at you, stricken, letting go of you at once. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's okay.' You take a breath, not as deep as you're aiming for. 'You hit a bruise.'

You don't want to keep thinking about it. 'Why did he think it was your fault?'

'I don't know. I was there. But there wasn't anything I could have done.'

You nod, feeling now yet sicker. You kinda wanna barf. You swallow it. 'God,' is all you can say. You're beyond grateful it wasn't Dogma, though your insides twist guiltily at the thought.

'How are you doing?' he asks, voice full of concern.

'Everything hurts.' You're hugging your stomach, though you think it's making it hurt worse. 'I think I fucked up my leg on something out there because that wasn't hurting before.'

'Do you need to go to medical? We can make up an excuse.'

You wish he'd touch you again. You shake your head. 'No, I-- I think it's alright.'

'If you're sure.'

You're not, but you don't want to risk going to medical, so you don't say anything. 'Is there anything we can do?' Niko asks.

'I don't know.'

'There might be, if we can sneak some medical supplies,' Dogma.

You shake your head again. 'We're running too low, it's too noticeable. Anyway, someone else probably needs it more than me.'

'Field remedies then. I have the regs for them memorised. What's safe to try.'

You squint at him. 'Do you have a photographic memory?'

'I don't know. I just study a lot. Heat, is the best.'

'Then it's a wonder I'm not cured already.'

'Well, I'm sure it's helping more than cool weather would, but we need to apply it more specifically.'

'Caf,' Niko says.

'Oh! That's an idea. Hot caf in a thermos will make a decent heat pack. I only have the one thermos so it's not ideal, but it's something. You two stay here, I'll go get it.'

You nod and sink to the floor. Niko sits down next to you. 'My hands are warm,' he points out.

You smile weakly. The fact that they're trying is itself enough, even if it makes you feel sad and bitter for reasons you don't want to name. 'Go for it,  _ vod.' _

He cups his hands gently on either side of your face on the bruises by the joints of your jaw. You close your eyes. It hurts because your face hurts, but the contact is nice.

You stay like that until you hear the door open, then look up to make sure it’s Dogma. It’s Dogma. He’s carrying a standard metal thermos. ‘Here.’ he sits down on your other side, close enough to touch but not touching.

‘You don’t... have to avoid touching me, Dogma.’

He nods. ‘I just didn’t want to hurt you.’

‘No, I-- I need you.’ It’s small, but it’s true. He scoots a couple inches closer so your bodies are right up next to each other. Niko scoots in too. You could cry.

‘Where does it hurt the worst?’

‘Jaw.’ You indicate the spot.

He holds his thermos against your face. It’s hot, a little too hot, but you don’t complain, just close your eyes again. Niko readjusts his hands, one on the other side of your face, one on your chin. You can feel him, and his and Dogma’s legs both, the heat from their bodies only inches from yours.

You feel safe.


	12. Chapter 12

You scan the face of every person gathered before you, heart pounding as you look for eyebrow tattoos. You barely catch the sigh of relief when you don’t see any. There’s over twenty brothers here now, orange and blue and blank in equal measure. You were expecting not to recognise most of them, but you realise you’re missing some familiar haircuts, too.

Spike is gone. That guy with the weird sidecut who you never spoke to is gone. Your heart falls. They’re all looking at you, watching you watch them, waiting, curious. You know you look like shit. You’re trying to pass it off as battle damage, and you know most of them won’t believe you, but you also know most of them will let you lie.

You see Kipper, so that’s something. That’s something.

You’re silent for too long. You sigh, let your shoulders fall. ‘We lost some people,’ you explain. You suddenly very much don’t want to be here, trapped under all their gazes. You want to run and hide. You want to die just to make it all stop. The weight of the war presses down on top of you. It’s more than you can handle. ‘I’m sorry, I... I need someone else to lead today.’

You say it before you realise what you said. You don’t know what they all think of that but you don’t know if you have it in you to care. You look away.

You hear someone get up, walk over. Put their hand on your shoulder. It’s Dogma. He kneels next to you, and squeezes your shoulder. ‘It’s like Slick said last time,’ he says, voice empty. ‘We can’t save everyone. And... and it hurts. _Val nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la._ But it still hurts.’

Silence. You can’t bring yourself to look up. You’re just glad he’s touching you. ‘Let’s just do all we can,’ he says. You feel his hand shake. ‘It’s all we can do.’

You don’t pray, you just pay attention to his hand gripping your shoulder and trembling. You don’t open your eyes until you’re sure you’re alone in the room with the _vode,_ unable to face what the others think of you.

‘Dogma,’ you breathe, the second you open them and see only him and Niko. You don’t know what’s wrong, but he’s clearly upset, eyes big and hands shaking.

‘I’m okay! I’m okay, I am _okay--’_

‘Shut up.’

He shuts up and hugs his elbows, face angled down, eyes not meeting yours.

‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

He opens his mouth, but winds up taking a breath instead of speaking. ‘I’m fine,’ he manages after a moment.

‘Dogma, how much fucking bullshit have I trusted you with?’

He makes a small noise. One of his hands is playing with the crease of his armor, running fingers along the edge. He doesn’t speak.

You wait, give him some time. Eventually he opens his mouth again. ‘It was just-- hard.’

‘Leading the prayer?’

‘Lying. Knowing if I fucked it up we’d all be done for.’ He sniffs, pulling back tears. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ he adds quietly.

‘You did wonderful, _vod._ You did such a good job. And it’s over now.’ You cup the side of his face and brush away an escaped tear with your thumb. Stroke along his cheekbone.

‘What if-- I mean what if I did mess it up though? What if somebody noticed--’

‘You did great. I was listening. You did _such_ a good job.’

He sniffles, failing to keep back the waterworks. ‘It’s okay,’ you tell him, and gather him into your arms. ‘You’re okay. It’s over. You did good.’

He cries against your shoulder. You stroke his hair, what little there is of it, and hold him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘Don’t be.’

‘I know I’m the one who has to keep it together.’

‘You’re not. Do you hear me, _vod?_ You’re not. We can cover for each other.’

After a moment: ‘O-- okay.’

You wonder if you’re speaking too loudly, even keeping your voices down, and instantly comb back through the last few minutes for anything incriminating. Was there? You can’t remember. Fuck. Your breath catches in your chest. You try to listen for anyone outside, but you can’t hear anything.

‘Are you okay? Slick?’

‘K-- keep your voice down,’ you whisper.

He falls silent. You focus as hard as you can on listening. All you can hear is him and Niko breathing.

Niko stands up. ‘I’ll go stand guard. You two come out when you’re okay.’

You hear the door open, then shut. You still don’t know if anyone overheard you before now. ‘We have to whisper,’ you remind Dogma. ‘I don’t know if talking softly is enough.’

‘We can test,’ Dogma says. ‘We can figure out what our limits are. How much we can hear through the walls.’

Oh god, what if whispering isn’t quiet enough? You cling to Dogma, heart pounding, eyes tight shut, listening as hard as you can.

‘I’m working on a solution to this,’ he whispers. ‘I don’t have one yet but I’m going to fix it.’

‘You’re being too loud.’

He stops talking, and instead starts nuzzling your head. You press down on some sort of maddening sadness threatening to escape you, your chest choked with it. You remember how distressed he was just a little ago and feel guilty, thinking of what he said. He doesn't have to be the one to hold it together. You can hold each other, all three of you. You nuzzle him back, swallowing all the noises you want to be making right now, of fear and brokenness and love.

You hear Dogma’s breath catch and press your nose to his cheek quizzically. ‘I just realised-- there’s some things we need to talk about,’ he whispers. ‘I’m going to have Niko help me test how soundproof these walls are. Stay here.’

He gets up. You don’t want to let him go but you do. You hug your legs instead, and listen dimly as Dogma tries talking in different volumes with Niko in the hallway. You hope they don’t get caught and asked what they’re doing. You hope a lot of things. You bury your face in your knees and try not to imagine various commanding officers passing by and stopping them. What happens after that, in the imaginary scene, cuts to black. You don’t even know what would happen. You just know it’s not good.

You jump when someone puts their hand on your shoulder. It’s Dogma, sitting next to you again. You’re shivering. Your face is wet.

‘It’s okay, Slick. We’re done. We figure out we’re okay as long as we don’t talk loudly.’

‘Wh... what?’ You blink at him. The room seems very bright.

‘Nobody will hear us if we talk quietly. Nobody will even hear us talking at normal volume. We can whisper if that would make you feel better. But we _can_ talk.’

It takes you a bit to assimilate this information. ‘You’re sure?’

‘We’re sure.’ He puts his arm around your shoulders and tips you over to lean against him, puts his other arm around you, holds you. You shift a little to get more comfortable against him. You’re both in your armor, it’s not exactly soft and cuddly, but you’re grateful to be held. ‘You’re safe, _vod’ika.’_ His voice shakes.

You look up at him. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘You kept telling us to keep our voices down.’

‘Actually it was mostly me that did that,’ Niko says. You’re glad they’re both speaking quietly.

‘Not helpful, _vod.’_

‘Oh.’

‘It’s not your fault, Dogma.’

He looks away from you. ‘It’s mine,’ you continue. ‘He didn’t have any dirt on either of you. He targeted me. That means he must’ve heard me talking, and figure out who I was. It’s not your fault.’ It feels dark and bitter but secure in it being the truth. You’re glad it’s you, and you’re glad it’s your fault. You wouldn’t put this on them instead if your life depended on it.

‘We know how to stay safe now,’ he says. ‘That’s the important part.’

You’re glad he didn’t try to argue the point. You snuggle in against him best you can. ‘Just promise me you’ll both keep your voices down.’

‘I promise.’

‘I promise,’ Niko agrees.

‘Good.’ You nuzzle his chestplate.

‘There was something I realised,’ Dogma says. ‘Something important.’

Your nerves go back on high alert. ‘What is it?’ Niko asks.

‘It’s about you, _vod._ You said you painted your squad’s armor. What squad?’

The words echo in the resulting silence. ‘You were fresh off Kamino when we met. You didn’t have a previous squad.’

‘Maybe my squad from growing up?’

‘I’ve never seen a brother on Kamino with paint,’ you intone, voice flat as ice creeps through your veins. ‘The longnecks are pretty strict about that shit.’

You look at Niko. He’s sitting there with his mouth fallen open. Something about this feels very, very, very bad, though you can’t say what yet. You swallow.

‘I... guess I had a previous squad,’ Niko says eventually, breaking the resounding silence.

‘Then why are you a shiny?’ Dogma asks. His voice wavers. ‘If you painted their armor, why didn’t you paint your own?’

‘Maybe I... got new armor.’ Niko is looking scared now. He hugs his elbows. ‘Maybe I misremembered. I don’t know.’

‘Maybe,’ Dogma says. He doesn’t sound convinced. His voice shakes. ‘Maybe.’

You all sit there in palpable terror. You’re still snuggled up to Dogma but you’re not remotely relaxed. You’re too stupid to figure out what this all means. Your mind is all dark, and you force the questions up against it like you’re a tubie and it’s all a round peg you’re trying to fit in a square hole. Where did Niko come from? Why didn’t he come with any indications of his life before? Why was nobody in his squad informed if he was a transfer? Were they, and Dogma was just locked out of the know by the other three?

Why doesn’t he remember?

‘There’s got to be records of where you were transferred from,’ Dogma says.

‘Yeah, but we can’t get them. There’s no reason we could give the captain that isn’t suspicious as fuck.’

‘I know there’s a logical explanation behind all of this. If I had talked to you before the first time you lost your memory-- I’m sorry, Niko.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t remember.’

‘It’s not your fault. If I was a little friendlier--’ he sighs. ‘There’s nothing for it now. Maybe you’ll remember more. Or maybe we’ll get the opportunity to find out where you were transferred from.’

‘I’m a decent slicer,’ you mention.

‘God, no, we can’t slice into the systems! That’ll only make things worse if you get caught.’

‘It’s basic information. It’s not going to be hard to access.’ You could do it easy enough. You think.

‘No.’ He’s firm. ‘We’re _not_ going to make more trouble for ourselves. We already have enough to deal with. I meant more, if Captain Rex asks you to help him again, and you get a chance to look.’

‘Right, well, that’s not going to happen because I am not going within three hallways of command if I can help it.’ You already had way too close of a call. ‘And you’re not either. Kriff, if one of us ran into Skywalker again...’

‘Right. Okay.’

‘I suppose it’d look suspicious if I asked to see my own records?’ Niko.

‘Yes. It would. Most people already know everything recorded there, or if they don’t, command is hiding it for a reason.’

‘Right.’

Silence again.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Dogma says firmly. ‘I mean, it does, but we have too much to deal with already. We need to get Slick safe again before we can start worrying about this. This doesn’t threaten us right now. I’d like to know for your sake, _vod,_ but if we go looking for trouble we’re going to find it.’

‘Okay,’ Niko says.

Silence again. You don’t know what to think.

‘Maybe I just misremembered,’ Niko says.

‘Maybe,’ Dogma agrees.

But he knows how to paint. He definitely knows how to paint.

Later Captain Rex flags you down in the hallway. ‘Sergeant.’

‘Sir.’ The familiar terror grips you.

‘Can I have a word?’

‘Of course.’ Your heart pounds in your throat. What could this possibly be about? What did you do? How did you slip up? What does he know?

The first room he tries has a trio of brothers boning down in it. There’s a lot of panicked yelling you don’t really take in, mind still racing, and Rex ends up laughing and closing the door. ‘Let’s try that again.’

You follow him to a different room, feeling like you’re about to lose your last remaining nerve, trying not to hyperventilate. At least you have your helmet on. At least he can’t see you. At least you have a chance.

What does he know?

He closes the door of the empty room. ‘How are you doing, Sergeant? I hear your congregation’s really taking off.’

This is not what you expected to hear and it takes you a few seconds too long to come to grips with it. He’s probably leading into the bad stuff. You’re probably playing right into his hands. ‘It is, sir.’ That was _way_ too long for a normal response.

‘It’d be nice to have the time to check it out.’

You wonder where he’s going with this. Every part of you is held still.

‘Look--’ he pulls his bucket, rubs his free hand against one of his eyes. ‘I’m gonna level with you, _vod,_ I’ve been trying to keep an eye but you seem jumpy as fuck right now-- you’re not in trouble, that’s not what this is. I’m just worried about you.’

What?

This is... sure a way to lead you in to having your guard down?

... What?

You’re definitely hyperventilating. That’s what’s probably almost certainly happening right now. ‘Bucket,’ Rex says, and tilts his jaw at you, and you don’t really have a choice but to pull your helmet with your hands shaking.

_‘Haar’chak,’_ he breathes. He’s blurry. Everything’s blurry. ‘Who did this.’

‘Nobody,’ you lie before you’ve thought about it. You’re not really thinking anything right now. It’s all just spinning.

‘Like hell.’

‘Battle damage.’

‘You must think I’m a fucking idiot.’

You wince. ‘I don’t know his name, okay. O-- or designation. Just got in a fight.’

‘You just got into a fight.’ He doesn’t sound convinced.

‘Some jumped up kid working off steam.’ You still can’t breathe right, sipping in shallow breaths between words, just trying to stay awake.

You feel his hand on your shoulder and bite your lower lip to stop yourself crying out. He takes his hand back. ‘You’re not in trouble, Slick. Come on. I’m taking you to medical.’

He doesn’t touch you again, but you’re hyper aware of him by your side. ‘Sir--’ you try again, desperate. ‘I didn’t think we had enough medical supplies left for minor injuries.’

‘Those aren’t minor injuries, Slick. What did he do to your jaw?’

‘It’s nothing.’

He stops, walks you into a nearby corner. You still can’t see him, just a brown and blue and white and bleach blond blur. ‘Slick,’ he whispers. ‘Who are you protecting?’

‘Nobody. Nothing.’

‘Then what are you so afraid of?’

You don’t have an answer for him. You feel lightheaded.

‘Slick, don’t pass out on me. Breathe.’

You can’t put meaning to the words you’re hearing. You’re lost in the darkness. The shadows are closing in around your vision. You hear him say something else.

This is it. You’re done for.

But you remember something: your _vode_ come first. Whatever you have to do, you’re going to make sure they aren’t implicated. They’ll probably be safer without you, anyway.

You wake up in a bed. There’s lights on. The walls are grey. You can make out other beds, not far from you. The closest one is occupied by a sleeping brother you don’t recognise. There’s various devices, scanners set up-- oh, you’re in medbay.

Fuck. You’re in medbay. You sit up. What happened? The last thing you can remember is getting cornered by Captain Rex. You rub at your face and look around. There’s no-one paying immediate attention to you. You could probably slip out.

And go where? And do what?

Face it, Slick. You got made.

Something still and deathly fills you up. This is it. This is the end.

You wish--

You don’t know what you wish.

A brother walks over. You look at him dully. It’s the medic with the mohawk. ‘Back with us, I see. How’s your head?’

It’s pounding. ‘Fine.’

The medic rolls his eyes. ‘Oh my god. Are we going to do this the hard way? Am I gonna have to get Rex?’ His voice is more nasal than standard.

You shrug. ‘Whatever.’

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. The gesture reminds you of Dogma.

No matter what, you have to keep Dogma and Niko safe. It’s just you that’s done for.

‘Do you want me to go get Nicky?’ he asks, and his voice is kinder. ‘Maybe a friend?’

‘No.’ You have to keep Dogma and Niko out of this.

‘Well you’re gonna have to talk to someone. So either quit lying to me, or tell me who to call.’

You sigh. Why can’t this just be easy. ‘My head’s pounding.’

‘Better. Do you remember what happened?’

‘No.’

‘Captain Rex said you passed out. Do you know why?’

Is this a rhetorical question? ‘No.’

‘Have you been eating full meals?’

‘No.’ It’s no use lying to him, not until it really matters.

‘For how long?’

‘A few days.’ You haven’t had the stomach.

‘Sleeping?’

‘No. An hour a cycle. Maybe.’

‘Stim use?’

‘Just caf.’

Your eyes have fallen somewhere around the corners of his mouth, where a geometric pattern is tattooed.

‘What happened to you?’

‘Got in a fight.’ This is one where you need to stick to the lie. You can’t let him find out, can’t let him tell. And you did, technically. There was a fight.

‘Who with?’

‘Dunno.’

‘One of ours?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Describe him.’

‘Nothing in particular. Some shiny. No paint, no ink. Probably just working off steam.’

He gives you a look. ‘A shiny did not do this unless he’s the boxing champ of Kamino.’

‘Someone else who’s never marked up then.’

‘What did he say to you?’

‘Just taunted me. I could tell he was trying to go for it. Decided to give him what he wanted.’

‘Were there other people there?’

‘Maybe. It was just in the hallway, and then I dragged him off to some room so we wouldn’t end up getting every single passer by involved.’

‘How was he looking by the end of it?’

‘Dunno. Kind of a blur, and bruises hadn’t formed yet. I got him to call it off, though. Just walked away.’

‘And how long ago was this?’

‘Five days or so.’

‘What did he do to your jaw?’

‘Yanked it down. Felt something go out of alignment.’ You hope this line of questioning ends soon, and he just gets to the putting you down part.

‘It’s realigned now.’

‘Well I yanked it back.’

He smiles slightly. ‘You’re a tough fettfucker, at least. I don’t have anything to give you except a couple hot compresses for the bruising. I gave you a scan already, there won’t be any permanent damage if you don’t exacerbate the jaw wound. Which means minimal talking, and I will tape your mouth shut if I have to.’

Something doesn’t line up. If they’re just going to ship you back to Kamino, or more likely shoot you as there’s a fucking blocade on, why is this guy bothering to patch you up? Maybe nobody told him. Given the circumstances you feel justified saying the thing you shouldn’t. ‘Maybe you should stop asking me questions, then, sir.’

He snorts. ‘Mouthy fuck. Alright, lie back down, I’m gonna go get your compresses. You’re staying here for the time being, too, for monitoring.’

You flump back, defeated. He walks away.

You stare at the grey ceiling. It’s blank and depressing. You’ve seen the travel brochures, Christophsis is supposed to be _beautiful._ Some of the city really is, too, enormous geometric green glass architecture, roads inlaid with abstract murals, paint and resinwork and all of it blown to pieces by the fighting. So what’s with these fucking grey and blue buildings you’re basing in? You blame command. Fucking killjoys. The medic comes back and gets you settled with some heat packs. They feel nice, but they’re no thermos of too-hot caf, or pair of sweaty hands.

You remember you’re going to die soon and try to keep your breathing even. At least you got the time you did with Dogma and Niko. Niko’s legs against yours, his hand in yours, the dazed look in his eyes, his nice, vague smile. Shameless lying once you taught him how, and good ideas even with his lack of knowledge base. Smooth, unscarred skin. His hand steady on the paintbrush trying to soothe Slinger’s pain. His hands on your face trying to fix your bruises with the power of touch alone.

And Dogma. Dogma’s arms, strong and safe around you. His hand in your hair. The desperate way he tries to keep his voice straight while he lies for one of you. His fucking memorisation of the fucking regs. His fierce defense, of you, and of Niko. So adamant in all areas, always knowing how he wants things to go, what he wants you to do. You can’t believe you thought he was shinier than you at first. He’s so smart, even as he’s an indignant, blushing bastard who polishes his armour daily.

And he let you want him. And he wanted you back.

Fuck.

You shut your eyes and try to stop thinking about anything, but it doesn’t work so you give up and keep thinking about Dogma. His arms around you. His face nuzzling the side of your head, your cheek. His lips so gentle against the back of your head. The haircut he gave you. _You’re okay, Slick. You’re okay._

It’s like you told Niko. It was worth it, because you got to be friends.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added vomit warning

A voice startles you from your thoughts. ‘Slick?’

Your eyes pop open. ‘Dogma?’ Sure enough, Dogma is standing over you. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ You hiss.

‘Captain Rex asked me to come. What happened?’

The galaxy is collapsing around your ears. ‘You can’t be here,’ you whisper, trying to be as quiet as possible while still making sure he hears. You have to protect him. You can’t do that if he’s standing right here with you in the lion’s den.

‘Like hell I can’t.’ He sits down in a chair next to your bed. ‘What happened?’

You give him the stink eye. ‘I passed out.’

‘Fuck, Slick.’

What he said catches up to you. ‘Wait, Rex knows about you?’ Nothing from the past couple tendays compares to the fear you’re feeling now. Nothing within your memory compares to the fear you’re feeling now. ‘No, no, no, no--’

‘Slick.’ Dogma’s voice is firm. ‘He knows we’re friends. He called me here because you passed out and apparently he’s worried.’

That takes a moment to sink in, your heart still pounding. ‘What?’

‘Rex is concerned because you passed out. That’s why I’m here.’

‘...Oh.’ It doesn't relax you, but it does at least make some definition of sense. Does this mean they're not going to kill you? Maybe they're waiting for a court-martial. But then you would be in the brig...

‘Can you tell me what happened?’

You think, trying to remember. Rex made you. That’s what happened. That's why you're going to die. That’s why Dogma can’t be here. ‘No.’

‘Okay.’

‘You have to leave.’

‘Stop saying that. You’re out of your mind right now, Slick. You need to calm down before you try to do anything else. The captain asked me to be here, therefore I need to be here, okay? Do you understand?’

Oh. You understand. ‘Yes.’

‘I don’t think you’re in any trouble, so you can stop fretting. Captain Rex is just concerned. He told me he thought you should be with a friend.’

It’s a lot to take in. You blink slowly at him.

‘And besides,’ he says, quieter. ‘I want to be here. You’re not the only one who’s allowed to be noble.’

You start crying. You love this man, so, so much, and you don’t want him to die, and you don’t want to die either, and you just want to go back to when things weren’t complicated, where the worst you could do was fall behind on your scores and get reassigned to some nothing job, or piss off your trainer and smacked around for it, or fuck up and--

No, you don't think about that.

You just want to go back to knowing what you’re supposed to do, and why, and for whom, and believing in all of it. Would that be too much to ask for?

But if it weren’t for all this, you wouldn’t’ve met Dogma and Niko. So. There’s that.

Dogma brushes your tears away from your eyes. ‘Medic says you’re not to talk, for the record. Your jaw needs to heal. So no more stupid arguments.’

You nod. You’ll do it for him.

You wonder dimly for a moment how you got here. You met, and then... you’re not quite sure. You told him everything, and he didn’t turn you in for it. He took you seriously, even if all that meant was calling you insane.

You nuzzle against his hand. The rest of the story, what happened to  _ you, _ how you got here in this fucking medbay, is more than you can grapple with. But he’s here. He’s here, and there’s nothing you can do about it, and what happens will happen.

But fuck, you don’t want him to die, and you don’t want to die either. You don't know if you're going to die. Dogma seems to think you're not, not today. You're not sure. Dogma's smart, but he's sweet. Maybe a little too trusting, talking to Nicky, and to the captain about you...

Fuck, was that what got you into this? Oh well. You couldn't be mad at Dogma for it if you tried.

'I should get you a novel or something,' he says, taking your hand, but he doesn't get up. At least if he has to be here, he's here. 'Do you know how long you're in here for? Don't answer that.'

You stay quiet as instructed. He looks out at the room and holds your hand. You wonder how long they're planning to keep you. You wonder what the goal is. The medic said you were in here for monitoring. You think. Monitoring what, exactly?

Your neck is still up against the edge of the saber, even if they haven't truly determined your fate. You have to be careful. Any slip up could...

The sheer fucking stress of it all means you have to fight down the urge to cry out. You know you don't want to die, but you also know dying would be easy. Dying would be so much easier than this.

Dogma squeezes your hand tighter.

You don't know how long you lie there, unable to think from the stress. You feel tired, but you couldn't sleep if your life depended on it. You just hold Dogma's hand, and with no other options available, try to ride it out.

You hear someone walk up, and pick your head up to see Captain Rex. 'Dogma,' he says. 'Can we talk?'

Fear floods you again, that same, bone-deep terror as earlier, stronger than your stress, stronger than a storm, stronger than anything. 'Of course, sir,' Dogma says, and then you must do something because you're sitting up and they're both staring at you.

'It's alright, Slick,' Dogma coaxes, reaching to gently pry your arms off from being around him, voice would-be-calm. 'I just need to talk to the Captain.'

You growl, guttural and warning. You don't care anymore. You're not in control anymore. You just know they can't have Dogma.

'Slick.' The captain holds his hands up placatingly. 'He's not in trouble. I'm not going to do anything to him. I just need to ask him a few questions.'

'Slick, please stop.' Dogma sounds terrified. You whimper and cling to him. 'I'm sorry about this, Captain, I don't think he's thinking straight, it must be the stress--' He sounds about ready to cry.

They  _ can't have him. _

'It's okay,' Rex says, still placating. You can't see him anymore, your vision is swimming. 'I'll come back in a few minutes. You two talk.'

You hear him walk away. You sob and bury your face in the crook of Dogma's neck. 'What are you doing?' he whispers, voice trembling.

'They can't have you, they can't have you, they can't have you--'

'Slick, you're only making our case worse. Please let go of me.'

You can feel him shaking. You whimper but let him pry your arms off of him. He's crying.

Oh, fuck, he didn't want you to do that, he didn't want you to do that, he  _ didn't want you to do that-- _

You start hyperventilating. You can't do that, you can't do that to him, you can't do things he doesn't want to him, you can't--

There's a steady hand on your back. 'Mouth closed.'

You look around wildly, trying to see anyone, but all you see is blurs of various neutral colours. 'Mouth  _ closed.' _

You recognise the nasal voice. You shut your mouth. A second hand comes up and presses down on one of your nostrils. 'Big deep breath in.'

You struggle to take a breath through your remaining nostril, but manage it shakily. The voice keeps talking you through breathing, switching nostrils periodically.

When you're breathing normally again he lets you go. You can see a little better now, too. Dogma standing next to your bed, the medic sitting on the bed with you on the other side. You can feel the heat of his body through the blanket. You're not really sure what happened, though, or what's happening. Dogma's eyes are clouded with tears.

'Slick? You with me?' the medic asks.

'Yes.' You find him for a moment but then go back to looking at Dogma.

Fuck. You made him cry, that was you, refusing to let go of him. That was you--

You vomit bile onto your lap, shaking. You can't ever do that to Dogma, not ever, can't do things he doesn't want to him, can't touch him in ways he doesn't want--

You need to  _ die-- _

'Come on.' The medic's voice is low and kind again. You barely hear it. 'Slick, can you get up? Dogma will come too.'

'Dogma--'

'Come on.' You let him take your arm and help you up, staring blankly. You deserve to die. You deserve whatever comes next.

'I'm sorry...'

'You're okay. Come on.'

You look for Dogma. He's coming with. 'I'm so sorry--'

'It's okay,' he says, softly, broken, but you don't believe him.

The medic takes you to a sonic and puts you in. 'Clothes under the door, I'll get you some clean ones.'

He shuts the door for you. You stand there for a few seconds, shell shocked, before starting to strip and kicking your clothes, acrid with the smell of vomit, back out under the door. You're glad you're alone for this, that he's not watching you. 'I'm right here,' Dogma says, and his voice still shakes. 'You're okay. You're safe.'

You shouldn't be, maybe. You don't know. You just hate every inch of yourself for being the one to make his voice sound like that. You rinse off under the sonic, use some of the soap provided to try to cover the vomit smell, which mostly goes away once a hand picks up your discarded blacks. You put on the ones they pass under the door in exchange and emerge. At least you don’t have any cigarettes left to lose.

Dogma is still there, still stricken, though he’s dried his eyes. The medic isn’t. You glance around. You appear to be alone.

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘You were out of your mind, Slick. I don’t think you knew what you were doing.’ He still sounds damnably small.

‘That doesn’t excuse it.’ Your shoulders sag. He loves you too much. More than he should. And for what? For you to mistreat him like this and put him in the line of danger from command? You should never have gotten him tangled up in this. For his sake.

‘Did you do it on purpose? Did you make the decision to talk back?’

‘Did I-- what?’ You try to remember. Try to remember what he’s talking about.

‘Well, not exactly  _ talk _ back...’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I know you are. It’s not your fault, it just...’ he trails off, looking away.

‘I’m sorry, I won’t ever do it again.’ You won’t ever touch him again, won’t even look at him if he doesn’t want you to.

‘Thank you. It went better than I expected it to anyway. I might be able to save this.’ He hugs his elbows.

You’re missing something. ‘W--what?’

‘With the captain. He’s probably saving his anger--’ he sighs defeatedly, looking at the ground, shoulders falling. ‘But I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry about me and don’t you dare be noble. You’re already hurt. I can take it, if he’s mad.’

‘Is the captain going to do something to you?’ You’re definitely missing something, alarm starting you back up. You won’t touch Dogma but that doesn’t mean you won’t protect him.

‘You’re still out of it, Slick. You stood up to him. Isn’t that what you were just apologising for?’

‘... No?’

He stares. ‘Fuck, what for then?’

‘I didn’t let go of you. Even though you wanted me to.’

A look of horror dawns on his face. ‘Slick, that’s  _ fine, _ you are absolutely forgiven for that, you’re allowed to touch me. I’m upset because you defied the captain. That’s the part I have a problem with.’

Oh.

The world is suddenly a lot more real and suddenly makes a lot more sense. ‘I couldn’t let him get you,’ you explain.

‘He’s not going to “get” me, at least he wasn’t before, and with any luck he won’t be too angry now. He probably just wants to ask me how you got attacked.’

Panic flares in you. Oh god. Rex is going to be mad at Dogma now and it’s all your fault. You really shouldn’t be friends with him. Not if you want to keep him safe. ‘I’m so sorry--’ you choke on it.

‘Slick! It’s over! Hyperventilating again isn’t going to solve it! Just don’t do it again.’

You nod, trying to breathe. ‘Breathe in for me,’ he says.

You let him talk you into breathing again, and then you remember a different problem. ‘Dogma, you can’t lie. And if you tell the truth, he’ll find out, and he’ll report us.’

Dogma takes a steadying breath. ‘I’ll just have to try.’ His eyes are steely. ‘Tell me what to say.’

‘What?’

‘Tell me what to say. You said it’s easier to lie if you know what you’re saying.’

You look around, and listen, to make sure you’re really alone. ‘I told them some guy in blank armor picked a fight with me. That he didn’t have anything distinguishing about him, no paint, no nothing. He taunted me in the hallway and I could tell he was looking for a fight so I dragged him off to a side room to fight him there. We fought and then I got him to call it and he left.’

He nods. ‘Okay. Repeat it for me again?’

You do. Dogma repeats the details back to you. ‘Yeah, that’s what I told them.’

‘Okay. I can-- I can do this.’

‘You can do this.’ You sure as fuck hope he can.

He surges forward and hugs you. You’re not expecting it, not expecting to be allowed to touch him anymore. But he holds you close to his chest, arms tight and secure around you. You hug him back, bury your face against his shoulder, grateful enough for getting to have this, just this one last hug, that you could cry again.

‘I’m going to fix this,’ he promises. ‘I haven’t forgotten and I haven’t given up. I’m going to fix this.’

_ ‘Ner ori’vod,’ _ you say against his shoulder. Your voice shakes.

_ ‘Ner vod’ika. _ It’s going to be okay.’

You can tell from his voice that he doesn’t believe it. You don’t really believe it, either. But at least you have this.

When you finally go back to the medbay proper, the medic takes you to a new bed, and you watch Dogma walk away straight-backed towards where Captain Rex left to. It feels just as bad as it did to have your jaw dislocated. Worse.

You let yourself be put to bed. ‘What’s your name?’ you ask the medic, because this is getting a little silly.

‘Kaz.’

You nod vaguely.

‘Do you want something to read?’ he asks.

‘Um. Sure.’ Dogma mentioned that, earlier. Your throat feels blocked. But reading sounds less maddening than just lying here.

Kaz comes back with an older model of reader after a couple minutes. ‘Here. Help yourself.’

You take it. It’s already turned on. You peruse the titles loaded on it. There’s a lot of them. You pick one at random, not really caring, some pulp romance sounding thing. You try to start reading but you can’t focus and you end up reading the first couple paragraphs six times without taking any of it in.

Fuck but you hope Dogma’s okay. Your chest feels too tight. You can’t really see the words on the screen.

Dogma comes back. You look up, heart pounding. He looks okay, just freaked out. ‘Dogma.’

‘I’m here.’ He sits down next to your bed. ‘I’m okay.’

He’s lying. You find his hand and hold it.

‘He just wanted to ask me about what happened to you, and how you were doing.’

‘Right.’ You scan his face desperately, looking for a clue, but all you can see is his poorly hidden distress.

‘You shouldn’t be talking,’ he reminds you.

You nod.

‘The captain told me to stay here tonight. Said they have enough empty beds, or... that I could climb in with you.’

You think maybe you might actually sleep, if he was holding you. You wonder if that’s okay to ask him for. You wonder if that’s okay to do, or if this whole thing isn’t some enormous complex trap. He rubs circles on the back of your hand. ‘How about I read to you?’

You nod, and pass over the reader. He starts on the story you have open. He’s a good reader. His voice is steady. The novel is about wartime romance. Your chest feels tight again.

When he hits a sex scene not too far in his voice wavers, and you look up to see him blushing fervently. You were kind of starting to feel sick to your stomach yourself. ‘Read something else,’ you tell him, and he nods gratefully.

This time it’s a murder mystery, which is a lot better. You like mysteries, even when they’re extremely improbable. Dogma keeps having to stop to comment. ‘That wouldn’t happen like that. That’s not how slugthrowers work. That’s not how gravity works either.’

You laugh. Finding yourself capable of such a thing fills you with this strange lightness. ‘Nerd.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to not be talking?’

You laugh at him some more behind your closed mouth. He shakes his head. ‘No respect for realism.’

He’s cute. You think you love him.

Fuck, you think you love him.

He reads to you far past the time when both of you should have fallen asleep, but nobody tells you off. You must eventually drift off anyway, though, because you wake from a start from a nightmare to find him sleeping with his head on his arms, leaning on your bed, still in the chair he was sitting in and still wearing his armor. You feel a little more with it for having slept.

You watch him sleep for a little, something you can’t name filling your chest. He could use a buzz, his hair’s getting long enough to be visible, covering the parts of his tattoo that stretch up past his hairline. You’ll shave it for him, once you get out of here.

When are you getting out of here, anyway? What exactly are they monitoring about you? Does Niko know where Dogma is? Is he going to start to worry? Is he going to be okay, with no-one watching his back? What time is it? Does your squad know where you are?

You’d find Kaz but you don’t think you should ask him anything except maybe when you’re getting out. Getting up would run the risk of disturbing Dogma, anyway, so you stay still, and watch him breathe evenly in his sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its my birthday!!! not because i was born today or anything, just because i want it to be >:3c

Dogma is quiet in the morning. A different medic brings you both breakfast and he stares at it blankly, hand shaking on his spork.

'Spill,' you whisper.

He shakes his head. You decide you'll press when you're alone with him. You hope you can get out of here soon. You flag down a medic.

He comes over. 'What's up?'

'I'd just like to know how long I'm going to be here for.'

He pulls his datapad from under his arm. 'Designation?'

'CT-0809-9983.'

He types it in. 'You're to be released tomorrow assuming normal progress.'

One more day, if you act normal. You can handle it, you think, even as a lump forms in your throat. Dogma has his face turned away from the medic, in towards the wall. 'Alright. Thanks.'

'Is there anything else you need?'

'No.'

He walks away. You take Dogma's tray and set it aside with your own untouched food. 'Come here,  _ vod.' _

You pull him against you. He goes stiffly and hides his face in your shoulder. 'It's gonna be okay,' you tell him, even though as far as you know it emphatically won't be. You scritch his scalp with the tips of your fingers, trying to ease some of his tension. 'We'll be okay. You're smart, and I'm tough.'

You feel vulnerable, saying this all in the open, but you whisper and keep it generic enough that hopefully no-one will take notice. You just can't sit there and do nothing. 'You're okay,  _ ori'vod.' _

'Shut up,' he says, voice small. You shut up. He is smarter than you, after all. He stays pressed awkwardly against your shoulder.

You get an idea though. You look around to make sure nobody's watching, and then take your breakfast and dump all of the soupy muesli on your lap. 'Fuck, guess I'm gonna have to go shower again.'

He looks at you like he's not sure whether to laugh or cry. 'Come with me? Wouldn't want to pass out again while I'm alone.'

'Okay.'

He sounds so weak, you hate it. Maybe that's how he always feels about you. You get up and head to the sonic.

‘Come in with me,’ you tell him, even though it sends a shiver of nervousness down your spine. You can trust Dogma. He follows you into the sonic. You can hear someone in the stall next to yours, but the sonic is loud, and you think maybe you can whisper, even though again, the thought terrifies you.

You strip. Dogma’s breath catches. ‘Slick...’

‘Don’t worry about me right now.’ You know you look terrible, bruises blackening on your stomach and back and hips. You turn on the sonic and pull him close to whisper in his ear. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’ The edges of his armor press in cool against your bare skin, sharp on the tender parts.

He shudders. ‘Are you sure no-one can hear us?’ he whispers back.

‘Yeah. The sonic’s really loud.’ You can barely hear him, even, and he’s right up next to your ear.

He’s quiet, shaking. You give him a chance. ‘I-- I don’t know if I can do this.’

You know what he means. You’re amazed he kept it together this long. ‘Which part?’

‘The lying, and, and the captain, and--’ his breath hitches. ‘I can’t do this, Slick, I don’t know how to do this, all I wanted to do was help you, and Niko, but fuck now the captain’s finding out and you talked back to him and they all know something’s wrong and, and, and I don’t want to be court-martialed! I don’t want any of us to be court-martialed! And I want to protect you but I  _ can’t,  _ I don’t know, not if there’s going to be an investigation or anything and I-- I don’t want to be bad!’ He breathes a high-pitched sob.

You rub circles into his back. Something in you is feeling dead and empty. He can’t be with you. And you’re not going to make him be. ‘Maybe you should leave then. Let me be. Save yourself.’

‘No! I’m not leaving you! I just-- why can’t you just be good, Slick? We can be good and normal and alright, and, and--’

A lump is forming in your throat. You’re not good for him. You can’t be what he’s describing. He deserves better than you. ‘I can’t do that. I tried. I really did. But-- I don’t want to take you down with me.’

Your chest aches as you let go of him. He looks at you, eyes big and full of tears. You feel bitter and hurt but also like you’re doing the right thing. You’re not mad at him. You’re just miserable. ‘You and Niko will be safer without me.’

He pulls you back in and clings to you. ‘No. Fuck you. I’m not letting you die, you bastard, I’m not betraying you, I’m not letting you go, I just can’t--’ He gasps for air. ‘I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m not.’

‘Breathe.’ You run your hand down his back, maybe a little too hard, just trying to be firm and solid for him. ‘Breathe in.’

You talk him through breathing like he always does for you. It doesn’t take as long as you always think it does when it’s the other way around. He’s still shaking. You’re feeling a whole slew of things, relief and fear and love and sadness. You’re so glad you’re not losing him. You’re so scared he’s going to go down with you.

But he’s been doing so much for the three of you. Maybe it’s your turn. ‘You don’t have to be okay,’ you tell him. ‘I can carry you too.’

He whimpers. You don’t know what you can do, but you have this autopiloted confidence that you’ll figure it out. You have to. For him. He’s weak right now, so you can shove all your own shit aside and be strong. ‘We made it this far. We can keep going. I’ll just drive the ship for a while.’

He nods against your shoulder. You hold him close and let him cry. The corners of his armor dig into your skin. You hold on.

You hear a knock on the sonic door and jump while also not letting go of him, causing him to yelp as your shoulder jolts into the side of his face. ‘Oh, fuck, I’m sorry!’ you recognise Nicky’s inflections. ‘You okay in there honey?’

‘Yes,’ you manage.

‘That you, Slick?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, just looking for you.’

‘I spilled muesli on myself.’

‘I saw that! Well you come out as soon as you’re ready, I’ll get you some fresh breakfast. Do you need clean blacks?’

‘Uh. Yeah.’

‘I’ll be back with those in a jiffy then sweetheart.’

You hear him leave and glance at Dogma. He almost definitely noticed the two pairs of legs visible under the door. You don’t know whether to be grateful or scared he didn’t say anything about it.

You touch Dogma’s face. ‘I didn’t get you too bad, did I?’

‘No,’ he says, nuzzling into the hand. ‘I um. I better leave. Before he comes back.’

‘Okay.’ You stroke his cheek with your thumb. ‘Go wait by my bed. I’ll be out in a bit.’ Giving him instructions comes naturally, knowing you have to be the one in charge right now. He nods into your hand and you let him go.

You emerge in the fresh blacks Nicky gives you and go back to your bed. Dogma is sitting tidily in his chair. You sit down on the bed and brush your fingers against his.

Nicky comes back with two more bowls of muesli. ‘Eat it this time, sillies.’

You arrange your face into something innocent. ‘Thank you.’

He rolls his eyes, smiling. ‘Uh-huh.’ He sits down on the end of your bed. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Better than yesterday.’ It’s not a lie, even. Your head is back to its usual pulsing, biting ache, instead of whatever the fuck it decided to do after you passed out. You make yourself eat, glance at Dogma to see if he’s eating also. He is.

‘Good. We’re keeping you here one more night and then tomorrow you’ll be released. You’re welcome to stay too, Dogma. Your sergeant’s been notified.’

God, you hope Niko isn’t too worried. Dogma nods. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Has my squad been notified?’

‘Yes.’

Great. Hopefully they’ll resist the temptation to check on you. Somehow you don’t think you’ll be that lucky. Nicky gets you set up with fresh heat packs and takes your empty dishes away. You look at Dogma. He looks back.

‘Keep reading,’ you say. ‘I wanna know how it ends.’

He picks up the datapad and starts reading. ‘Back up a bit?’ You ask. ‘I think I fell asleep before this.’

He nods and scrolls upwards. ‘Did you hear the part in the greenhouse?’

‘Yeah, that’s a good place to start.’

He starts reading again. He doesn’t stop to comment and it makes your chest ache but it’s fine, it’s just the speed he’s at right now.

Gus and Punch stop by as you’re finishing lunch. ‘Hey, Sarge,’ Gus says. It’s beginning to sound familiar. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah.’ Dogma has his face angled in away from them.

‘What happened? They didn’t say.’

You sigh, deciding on a lie. ‘Captain just noticed I look like I tangled with a brick wall. I’m here for “monitoring.”’ You do air quotes.

Gus holds back a smile. ‘Jester’ll be pleased, at least,’ he says, lightly.

‘Yeah. Over the fucking moon, I’m sure. Where’s he and Chopper? Can’t be arsed to check in on Sergeant dearest?’ Teasing feels like the safest route to take here. Everything’s fine. It’s all fine and light and funny.

‘Oh, Jester cares,’ Punch says, laughing. ‘He’s just busy.’

‘I dunno where Chopper is though,’ Gus says thoughtfully. ‘He’s been weird lately. You probably noticed.’

Huh. You frown, and quickly stop because your fucking jaw hurts. ‘I figured he was just up to his own shit. Seeing someone, or something.’

‘Yeah, that could be it, I guess. He has been gone a lot. He’s been really cagey whenever I try to talk to him, though.’ He rubs the back of his neck in thought.

‘I’ll talk to him.’ You really don’t think it’s anything to worry about, everyone has their own fucking bullshit they’re dealing with and you’re in no place to judge. Then again, he could need help. Fuck, he could need help. Some shard of ice stabs at your stomach. You won’t call him here, where your only options are to talk in the open or the sonic, but you’ll go find him as soon as you can. Make sure he’s safe. ‘Not like being unfriendly is against the regs, but I’ll let him know you’re worried.’

‘Thanks, Sarge. When are you getting out of here?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Dogma says, speaking up. He’s facing them now but his eyes are defocused and falling somewhere around their legs. ‘And he isn’t supposed to be talking, because of his jaw.’

They exchange glances. ‘See you later then?’ Punch asks.

‘Yeah.’ You hold up a hand in parting. They leave. You look at Dogma. You don’t mind at all, and you’d be a bloody hypocrite if you told him he didn’t have to defend you, but you’re worried about the shake in his jaw and the way he’s hugging his elbows. ‘I’m okay.’

‘You aren’t supposed to be talking,’ he repeats, louder and firmer. You shut up. He’s quiet too. You put your hand near his on the bed; he seems a little too snappish right now to comfort directly, but you want to give him the option. He doesn't take it. He just sits quietly with you, hands grasping at and running along the seams in his armour before his elbows.

'Finish the book,' you tell him eventually, when the tension radiating from him starts to get painful. He takes a shuddery breath and doesn't move. You don't think he's going to listen to you, which is fine, but then he picks up the reader and picks up where he left off. You had just got to the reveal before lunch. It's nice to know how it ends, even though the ending, it turns out, really isn’t that satisfying and completely ignores the whole side plot with the paint stripper.

You’re released from medical the next day with firm instructions to avoid talking and to check back in every other day, a grounding order, and Dogma, who stands stiffly at parade rest while he waits for you to finish talking to, or rather being talked at by Kaz. You still don’t have any idea what exactly they were monitoring. Probably just your jaw. Maybe.

You’re feeling paranoid enough as you leave that you don’t want to go immediately visit Niko. ‘I’m gonna check in with my squad,’ you mutter to Dogma. ‘I’ll catch you two later.’

He nods. Sleep seems to have done him some good, but he’s still tense and terse. You squeeze his hand briefly before you slip off in different directions. Once he’s gone you feel reality drop, turn into a river flooding past you as you follow your autopilot back to your barracks. A few bastards are there.

‘Sarge!’ Gus says excitedly as he spots you. ‘Welcome back! Full recovery?’

There’s some commotion and noise of others echoing the sentiment. You wave them off. ‘Mostly. Still not supposed to talk much.’

‘Guess that makes you a captive audience,’ Gus again, with a shit-eating grin on. You give him a look and raise an eyebrow. He laughs. ‘Kidding, Sarge. Kidding.’

‘He’s not,’ Punch says. You snort, attention falling to him, and--

And the guy he’s sitting with has an eyebrow tattoo.

Your world freezes. The sound and movement around you turns to motion blur. He can’t be here, he can’t be fucking  _ here, _ not in front of your squad-- He can’t get your squad--

Something touches you and before you can track what’s happening you’ve whirled around and struck something. There’s a startled shout.

You blink your eyes clear and Gus is in front of you, pinned to the wall with you restraining his hands. The room is dead silent. You can just hear yourself breathing loudly, and you can’t tell if you’re breathing hard or if it just stands out that much against the quiet.

‘Sarge?’ Gus asks timidly.

You let him go. ‘I’m sorry,’ you say quickly. You almost choke on it. Gus rights himself, rubbing his wrists.

Everyone is staring at you. You don’t really know what happened but you know that what’s happening now is worse. You don’t know what to say. You don’t have any excuse to give. You look around the room, face to worried face, too cowardly to look at any one long enough to tell what you see there. Suddenly you remember, and whip around to face Punch’s bunk, heart pounding and veins frozen. Punch is standing but you barely notice, only looking at the brother standing next to him--

Oh.

It’s the wrong fucking tattoo. It’s just a letter S in a stencil font on the outer edge of his eyebrow, a little faded. It’s just Punch’s friend, Sketch.

Everything drains out of you. Fuck, you don’t have it in you to explain all this to them. You don’t know what you’d even say. Rex was right to catch you and stick you out of the way in medical; his only mistake was letting you leave.

Every second more people see how fucked up you are. It’s only a matter of time until someone does put you away for good.

‘Sergeant?’

It’s Jester, out of view to the right. You don’t know what to say. You’re rooted to the spot.

‘A-- are you alright, sir?’

‘He’s not,’ Gus mutters from your left.

‘Shut  _ up, _ Gus.’

‘Does anyone know what squad his  _ ori’vod _ is in?’ Punch asks quietly. ‘Or maybe we should get the captain?’

‘It’s that guy with the big face tattoo, right? I think I’ve seen him around,’ Sketch says.

‘I think we should get the captain.’

‘You always think we should get the captain.’

‘Fuck you, this isn’t normal. We should at least get the lieutenant. Or a medic.’ You hear the crackle of someone’s comm come online.

Fuck it. If they’re going to kill you you’re not just going to stand here and spend your last moments being stared at like the piece of fucked up machinery you are. You about face and walk out of the room. ‘Sergeant--’ follows you out but you ignore it and the footsteps also coming after you. They don’t follow you, anyway, down the hallway and towards--

You guess you’re going to go see Dogma and Niko. This is probably stupid. This is probably a bad idea. But you can’t remember why, and you don’t care right now. You just want to see your  _ vode _ one more time.

You walk into Argon Squad’s barracks. Dogma and Niko are there, together on a bed, and you make a beeline for them and gather them up in your arms and just hold onto both of them, one in each arm, the angle awkward so you’re half kneeling, half crashed into the bed. ‘Slick...’ Dogma says, and tries to move you but you’re not in a mood to be moved and so just stand there with your face buried against the two of them. After a couple moments a hand starts to card hesitantly through your hair. You shake out a sob.

Strong hands, more than you can deal with resisting, pull you up onto the bed between the two of them and shove you around into place, tucked against Niko’s side. ‘You looked really uncomfortable,’ he says. You bury your face against his shoulder, your arm plating clacking against his as you settle in. Dogma finds your hand and holds it. You hear distant talking from the other side of the room. You can’t really bring yourself to worry about it.

Dogma shakes your shoulder. ‘Wha?’

He points across the room. You make your eyes focus on the brother standing there; probably Dogma and Niko’s sergeant. ‘I said, you’re Slick, right?’ he asks, talking loudly. You wince.

‘Uh. Yeah.’

He holds up his arm to indicate his wrist comm. ‘Got a message for you from Captain Rex. He says stop doing things that make people talk to him about you because he’s already up to his ears in making sure we don’t all die.’

You cringe. ‘Uh... right. Copy.’ Fuck, you’re a mess. At least you don’t seem to be in trouble, though you do note that you are that predictable that the captain was able to locate you through Dogma’s sergeant. He goes back to ignoring the three of you.

You look at Dogma, face full of welp. He looks quite concerned. ‘S’ok,’ you say softly. ‘Not in trouble.’

‘Right.’ He clutches your hand tighter.

‘Gonna be okay.’ You lean away from Niko to nuzzle Dogma’s jaw. He’s tense for a moment but then leans into it, breathing carefully.

‘You’re still not supposed to be talking.’

You grunt and just nuzzle him.


	15. Chapter 15

‘There’s something I have to do,’ you remember, cuddled close between Dogma and Niko.

‘We’ll come with,’ Dogma says at once. ‘If-- if we can, I mean.’

You think about it. Chopper would probably feel better just talking to his sergeant and not two randos as well. ‘You can wait outside for me?’

He doesn’t seem that happy with the idea, but he nods. ‘You aren’t supposed to be talking,’ he reminds you.

‘Yeah, but this is important.’

‘Okay.’

You comm Chopper. ‘Sergeant?’ he asks.

‘You got a minute?’

‘Yes.’ He sounds wary. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing bad, just touching base. Let’s meet in the commons.’

‘Okay.’

Niko looks at you quizzically. ‘Chopper’s been acting weird, disappearing, being unfriendly,’ Dogma tells him.

‘Figure we might have another me on our hands,’ you explain quietly. ‘I just need to check up on him.’

Niko nods. You all get up and walk to the commons together. You’re there first but spot Chopper coming in a minute later, looking nervous. You leave the other two and get up to go talk to him. ‘Hey.’

He looks at you. His eyes have this hard twitchiness in them, alert for danger. Your heart is in your throat. ‘Come on, I wanna talk in private.’

You know it’s a little mean but you also know asking him in public won’t get you anywhere. He keeps his eyes trained on you as you go find an empty room with him in tow. You shut the door. ‘What’s going on with you, Chopper? I’m worried.’

He still has this defensiveness in his demeanour, no outward terror, but still ready to bolt. You wonder if that’s how you look sometimes. He doesn’t say anything.

‘Look, I just need to know if you’re in some kind of trouble. If you need help.’

He sighs. ‘It’s not that, Sergeant. I’m okay.’ His eyes travel across your bruised face.

You know what he’s thinking. ‘I’m taking care of my shit,’ you lie. ‘I just want to know that you are.’

He gives you a look like he’s not sure whether to trust you or not, and fuck it, you throw caution to the wind. ‘Mutually assured destruction,’ you tell him, because that was how this whole damn thing got started. ‘I got raped.’

He stares at you. ‘And the guy’s gonna hurt my  _ burc’ye _ if I tell.’ It’s not a lie. ‘So, there. That’s why I look like such complete shit. You and them are the only people who know.’

Your mouth feels dry. But you’re not gonna let him go through the same shit you did. There’s more you could tell him, and you feel like a coward for only jumping off one of the deep ends, but you don’t know how he’ll feel about treason and you need him to trust you right now. He opens his mouth, and closes it. Looks down and hugs his elbows. ‘It’s nothing like that. I just don’t know what to do with myself.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s just so much.’ He hugs himself. ‘Everyone’s dying. I know people are worried, I know everyone knows how bad it is-- but they don’t act like it. It’s like everyone thinks it’s fine that we’re all--’

He cuts off. Your throat feels tight, hearing your thoughts reflected back at you. God, you feel for this kid. ‘I know,’ you say. ‘Fuck but I know. It’s like they all think if they act like it’s not happening it won’t be.’

He nods, peeking up at you through his lashes. ‘Yeah.’

‘Do you have friends?’

‘Not really.’

‘This your first deployment?’ He doesn’t have any paint, and only a few scuffs, though he does have a scar across the side of his head, above a discoloured right eye. You think of Shiner for a moment and your gut twists. You don’t know what to do there. Whatever, now’s not the time.

‘No. I was in Arif Company before it, uh. Disbanded. I’m just new around here.’

There’s a shake in his voice. You nod. ‘Most of my old squad died before this leg of the campaign. I was just a trooper there, I only got promoted when they patchworked this squad together.’ You weren’t close to any of them, your keeping everyone at a distance doing its job. He sounds like he lost friends, or at least people who might’ve been. You don’t know anything about Arif, really, but you can guess from his voice it was one of the ones who suffered heavy losses and didn’t have enough people left to bother keeping the company together. That’s the main reason companies get disbanded, anyway, unless something big happens.

‘I’m sorry.’

You shrug a little uncomfortably, thinking of them now, but that’s an avenue you can’t afford to go down. This is about him. ‘It happened,’ you grunt. ‘All I mean by it is, I know what you’re feeling and I know it fucking sucks. Friends take the edge off. Let you forget about it even if just for a few moments. Mine are what’s keeping me sane.’

He nods. ‘You can hang out with us,  _ vod,’ _ you continue.

‘I don’t need pity.’

‘You want to go on like this?’

He sighs. ‘No,’ he admits to the floor.

‘You’re gonna die anyway, so you might as well stop being so miserable while you’re waiting for it to happen.’ Funny how the logic you run on isn’t clear to you until you need to lay it out for others. ‘I know it’s impossible to just fucking forget about. To just keep flying straight.’ You remember Dogma’s words when you first met; _ lucky for you I've already got lessons formulated for how to fly straight. _ Or something like that. The idea that he was going to be teaching you anything seems to have completely dissolved by now. He’s done something more important, anyway, in throwing you an anchor. ‘But you’re gonna have to muddle through either way, less you want to shoot yourself and be done with it.’ You wouldn’t blame him if he did, though the thought makes your throat constrict.

‘No, I don’t,’ he says quickly, an edge of alarm. Shit, did you say too much? Fuck. Too late. ‘It feels like it’d be letting them win,’ he amends quietly.

You nod. That second statement tells you he’s considered it. You think you can trust this kid, though you’re definitely not going to dump all your bullshit on him unless you have to. ‘So. Welcome to the club.’

‘Does this mean a rapist is going to start threatening me?’

You burst out laughing. It startles you, just this clean, good feeling in your chest from after who the fuck knows how long getting a good fucking laugh. He grins at you. He’s got this lopsided grin that shows his canines and makes him look like a bit of a mad bastard. Yeah, you think you’ll get on fine.

You go back to the commons and find Dogma and Niko. They’re both waiting anxiously. Dogma stands as you approach, on alert, Niko following his lead at least on the standing. ‘Calm down,’ you tell them. ‘Everything’s fine. This is Chopper, one of my men. He’s, uh. In the same boat as me.’ Dogma’s hand goes to cover his mouth. ‘Emotionally speaking,’ you clarify quickly, which seems to settle him somewhat.

‘Hi,’ Chopper says.

‘Hello,’ Dogma says. ‘I’m Dogma, this is Niko. Did Slick tell you he’s not supposed to be talking yet?’

You smile innocently. ‘Why not?’ Chopper asks.

‘He hurt his jaw.’ He says it with a certain sort of delicacy that tells you he’s picking his words.

You lean in. ‘Listen, I told him what happened.’ Not why, you hope comes across. Dogma looks alarmed.

‘Slick--’

‘I wanted to prove to him he could trust us. Mutually assured destruction.’

‘Oh.’ He still looks doesn’t very happy about it, big wary eyes giving you a reproachful look.

‘I’m not leaving someone to floun--’ Dogma puts his hand to your lips. You stop talking.

‘It’s nice to meet you, Chopper,’ he says with regained grace and some degree of sniffiness. Chopper glances at you worriedly. You smile at him and pat Dogma’s shoulder.

‘So, uh. What do you guys like to do?’ Chopper asks.

The three of you exchange glances. ‘I don’t think it’s so much about what we  _ like _ to do,’ Niko says.

‘...What?’

‘Let’s go talk,’ Dogma says, and totes y’all off to yet another empty room. ‘First of all,’ he says, ‘Keep your voice down, the walls here are reasonably soundproof but only so much as to cover normal talking. Quiet talking is safer.’

You feel both embarrassed and grateful.

‘Okay,’ Chopper says, voice low. ‘That makes sense. You guys, um. Talk about a lot of stuff, then.’

‘Yes. What exactly did Slick tell you?’

Chopper holds one of his elbows. ‘He got raped, and the guy’s threatening y’all.’

Dogma relaxes. Boy is he an easy tell. ‘Why, is there more?’ Chopper asks.

‘No,’ Dogma says, then at the looks you and Chopper both give him, ‘Yes, but it’s private.’

‘Right.’

‘You asked what we like to do; mostly we hang out in empty rooms and spend time together, talking, goofing off, or running practice drills.’

‘Practice drills? Really?’

Dogma sets his jaw. ‘Really. It doesn’t hurt, you know.’

‘That’s just so... tame.’

‘Well do you want to be friends with us or not?’ He crosses his arms.

Chopper holds up his hands. ‘It just surprised me.’

You put a hand on Dogma’s shoulder, trying to get him to ease up a little. He gives you a look. You give him a look back, raising your eyebrows. He sighs.

‘Hey, it’s nice to get some privacy,’ Chopper agrees.

‘Yes,  _ privacy,’ _ Dogma says pointedly, giving you another look, and okay yeah, you do feel a little sheepish, but what were you supposed to do, not help him? Chopper looks awkward.

You give up on the not talking thing. ‘Stop doing that. You let me in easy enough.’

‘Did I?’

‘You did call him insane and threaten to get him killed a little,’ Niko points out.

‘Why are you friends with this guy?’ Chopper mutters to you behind his hand.

‘Because he’s the best fucking  _ ori’vod _ a guy could ever ask for. Dogma, stop being a bitch, we can all do something normal like play cards.’

Dogma huffs, crossing his arms.

‘Look, I can just leave,’ Chopper says.

‘You don’t have to. He’s just being protective. Do you own a card deck?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Could you go get it? I’ll talk to these assholes.’

He nods, looking uncertain, and leaves the room. You round on Dogma. ‘He needs our help. Stop trying to chase him off.’

‘Stop  _ talking.’ _

‘Stop doing things I need to talk to you about.’

You glare at each other. Dogma huffs again. ‘Look, Slick, this is dangerous,’ he whispers. ‘With us three... we know it’s safe. We all know each other’s worst secrets. I’m assuming you don’t have any more.’

‘I don’t.’

‘What if he figures something out?’ His eyes are pleading.

You sigh. You know where he’s coming from, your stomach tying itself into knots about what happened the last time someone figured something out. But you also know you can’t leave Chopper out in the cold. ‘We don’t have to hang out with him nonstop. I talked to him, Dogma, he’s fucked up and he’s scared, just like I was when I met you. He’s considered killing himself. Decided not to, but he considered it. And he’s in my squad. I can’t just turn him away, not when I can help.’

‘For the record,’ Niko says, ‘I think we should help him.’

Dogma bites his lower lip. ‘Okay. Fine. We can spend time with him. But we’ve got to be careful.’

‘Thank you. We can be. And I bet he has secrets too. We already know a couple of them.’

Dogma sighs. ‘Right. You’re right. Just be  _ careful, _ okay? Both of you. Don’t let your guards down.’

‘I will be.’

Niko nods agreement.

‘Also, stop talking.’

You salute him. ‘Can I talk?’ Niko whispers.

‘Yes, you can talk,  _ vod,  _ it’s just cause of his jaw.’ He still sounds a bit shirty, but less so.

Chopper comes back with a thermos along with his card deck. ‘Peace offering?’ he says, holding it up.

Does he have booze? You perk up. You do not care how rank whatever is in this thermos is, if it is booze or booze-adjacent, you will drink it.

Chopper laughs, still a little nervous, at the look on your face. ‘Don’t get too excited, Sergeant. There’s only a little bit of alcohol in it. It’s mostly tea.’

‘You had me at alcohol.’

He chuckles, glances at Dogma as he passes you the thermos. The tea is strong and very hot and you think contains at least three different flavours in some unholy marriage, and even so diluted the alcohol stings the back of your throat. You take a long swig before passing it back.

You raise your eyebrows at Dogma, who sighs. ‘I will refrain from antagonising you.’

Chopper smiles this weird sideways bemused smile, half unsure, half amused. ‘Thanks.’

‘But I do not want any of your fermented leaf juice demon drink.’

You crack up. ‘I want some fermented leaf juice demon drink~’ Niko sing-songs. Chopper passes him the thermos. It hits you that he gave up some fucking  _ alcohol _ to try to make peace. Yeah, you like this kid. Niko drinks the stuff like a champ. His body probably remembers all sorts of fucked up beverages even if his brain doesn’t.

You play cards and pass the thermos. Niko doesn’t know any of the games, which Dogma and Chopper are both happy to correct, though they get into a few disagreements about rules which seem to be chalked up to batch differences and which are thankfully settled by Dogma’s encyclopedic knowledge of all varieties of ratscrew he has ever encountered. You don’t talk about much besides the game, and it’s nice in its own way, not quite relaxed but nothing hanging unsaid.

You all get up to have lunch together. ‘Can I talk to the Sergeant? Alone?’ Chopper asks.

Dogma glances at him, Niko, you. ‘It’s fine,’ you say. ‘Just wait in the hallway.’

Dogma doesn’t look happy about it but he obeys, Niko trailing after him. Chopper turns to you once the door closes. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ he says, voice low.

‘I know I don’t. Look, you don’t have to go along with it, but don’t let Dogma chase you off. He’s just really protective. He’s really nice when you get to know him.’

‘I’m sure.’ He rubs the back of his neck. ‘I mean. This was nice. It was.’

You cut him off there. ‘Chopper.’

He looks at you instead of somewhere to a side wall. ‘This doesn’t have to work, but I’m not going to go back to just ignoring you,’ you continue. ‘I’m your sergeant, and even if I wasn’t, I can’t let anyone go through what I did. Not alone.’

He looks at you sadly, and sighs. ‘Yeah, okay. Listen, you’re... not going to get me in trouble, are you?’

‘No. Of course not. Mutually assured destruction.’

He nods. ‘Right. Okay. It’s just-- I don’t think you’d get in trouble. If you came forward with yours.’

Ice floods you for a moment, but then you let it go. ‘It’s... it’s not the only thing. I was in the same boat as you not too long ago. Nervous, scared, angry. Afraid of everyone and everything. Seriously considering just shooting myself. There’s your ammo.’

He nods to himself. ‘Well I’m not going to get you in trouble either, Sergeant.’

‘You can call me Slick when we’re not on the job. It’s alright.’

‘Okay.’

‘Just give this a try, and then in a few days tell me it isn’t better than just stewing, and I’ll let up.’

‘Yes sir. Slick.’

You make to clap his shoulder, but realise what you’re doing and hesitate with your hand over his shoulder plate. ‘This okay?’

He looks at you a little oddly. ‘Yeah, it is.’

You clap his shoulder, a couple rough pats, not wanting to think about what he’s thinking. ‘I would say it’s going to be okay but it’s not. But maybe it’ll be a little more okay, yeah?’

‘Yeah. I’ll-- give you guys a chance.’

You have the sudden urge to nuzzle him like you do with Dogma, to show him, physically, that you mean it, that he’ll be safe. But that would be a little too familiar, so you don’t. ‘Sergeant?’ he says.

‘What?’

‘Is there anything I can do to help you? I’m pretty good in a fight-- maybe if you pointed the guy out, we could get a few of the other guys in on it too, Dogma looks like a tough motherfucker. Rough the  _ chakaar _ up enough that he’ll think twice. Show him he can’t get away with this.’

Your heart soars even as bitterness stabs at it. Yeah. This kid is yours now. ‘Believe me, I thought about it.’ It hurts to say. You wish there was a way for him to help. ‘But no matter what we do he’s going to make me hurt for it. He made that pretty clear.’

Your throat constricts as you say it. You want suddenly to be out of this conversation, or maybe to barf. Be alone on your knees in a fresher stall, maybe with Dogma at your back standing watch. You shudder. You want Dogma’s hands, certain and uncertain, on you instead of these phantom ones crawling out from the back of your mind.

‘You okay?’ Chopper asks.

Fuck. You can’t really grasp what to say, take a shuddering breath in anticipation of speaking and then don’t. ‘I’m getting your  _ vode,’ _ Chopper says, and walks out of the room. Your vision tunnels around the emptiness before Dogma comes into view.

‘What did you do?’ he asks Chopper sharply, even as he snakes a gentle hand to the back of your neck to pull your foreheads together.

‘What happened to not antagonising me? We were just talking.’

‘Slick’s just like this,’ Niko explains. ‘It’s probably not anything you did.’

Dogma nuzzles your face and you nuzzle back on instinct even as the rest of you is frozen. ‘It’s okay  _ vod,’ _ he mutters. ‘You’re alright. You’re safe.’

You whine. You don’t feel safe. The whole world is pressing in around you, dark and blurry, and you don’t know what happened or why you’re here or why you feel like this. You hunch in against Dogma, and he holds you. You feel like you should feel embarrassed, but you just feel so small and scared and sad.  _ ‘Gar’marut, vod’ika. Udesiir. Gar’ner. Gar’marut.’ _

Your breath hitches as he says it. You let the words wash over you, slowly able to relax into sheltering against him. You’re his. You’re safe. He says so. You breathe. You’re safe. Dogma is here and solid against you.

Eventually you become aware of the room again. Niko and Chopper have left. You wonder where they went, briefly, before something else occurs to you.

_ ‘Gar’ner?’ _ you ask, your heart skipped to your throat. It’s different, from him calling you his  _ vod’ika, _ different from the proscribed and pre-phrased words of affection.  _ You’re mine. _

He huffs, blushing, outright  _ blushing. _ ‘I think after everything we just went through together not considering you mine isn’t really an option.’

‘It is.’ You won’t pressure him into anything, won’t take him pressured.

‘Well it’s not an option I want to take.’

You beam at him.

‘Stop it,’ he says, blushing even redder and grinning. ‘That can’t be good for your jaw.’

You try to stop smiling but it’s difficult and you can’t really manage. He rolls his eyes and nuzzles noses with you.  _ ‘Gar’ner,’ _ you tell him back, eyes bright with love.

‘I know.’ But he’s still smiling too. He buries his face against your shoulder. ‘Don’t they caution people against choosing your  _ aliit  _ this fast?

‘Don’t care. You’re mine.’ What happens will happen. You could die tomorrow. You could hate each other next month. Lots of things could go down. But you don’t care, because right now, you are so in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a wild chopper appears ..!
> 
> more tinkering w what we know of canon mando'a; made the plural of burc'ya burc'ye instead of burc'yase following the grammatical pattern of ad'ika > ad'ike, also trying to figure out how the fuck you're vs you vs your works & sentence structure and like.... whatever yall we havent even gotten to me needing to invent non-binary adjectives
> 
> also these boys,,,,,,,,, CUTE


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been writing this entire fucking fic w like a migraine or some other shit that hasnt gone away for a whole ass month so its works real well that im doing slick pov bc im just as confused and unable to track the plot as he is. this fic is 2 parts i love clone troopers 1 part i hate america and 1 part Disease Where I Kin Slick

Niko and Chopper are waiting for you in the mess, a couple partially eaten lunches between them. They wave you over. 'We saved you some,' Niko explains. 'In case you missed lunch.'

'You did miss lunch,' Chopper adds.

You smile at them, so pleased and touched even though you still don’t have much of an appetite. ‘Thanks, guys.’ You sit down across from them and put your arm around Dogma’s shoulders when he sits down next to you, pulling one of their trays over to at least get a few bites in you. Wait, shit, should you be doing such obvious PDA? It’s got to already be apparent to anyone who looks at the pair of you that you and Dogma are together. But what if he didn’t know, and he does see, and he does target Dogma directly--

‘Slick!’

You blink back to reality. ‘Hmmn?’ You take your arm back from around Dogma’s shoulders.

‘I got you a present.’ It’s Niko, smiling, obviously quite pleased with himself.

‘A present?’ You’re surprised. You can’t remember if you’ve ever got a present before, or where he would even get such a thing. Maybe he made something for you. ‘Wow. Let’s see it.’

He slides a box of cigarettes across the table to you. You stare, and open it. It’s half full. ‘Holy fuck.’ Gratitude slams into you like a tidal wave just looking at them. ‘Niko, holy shit, thank you, where did you even get these?’ Not that it really matters but you are burning with curiosity. ‘I thought we were all out.’

‘Someone gave them to me,’ he says casually.

That does  _ not _ add up. Dogma squints at him suspiciously. ‘Someone  _ gave _ them to you?’

‘Yep.’

‘Who?’

‘I dunno, I don’t know him. Some shiny.’

Okay, he definitely stole them. You are mega impressed. Not only does he have pickpocketing skills from somewhere, because nobody’s dumb enough to keep their cigs in their berth at this stage, he also found someone who had cigarettes to pickpocket in the first place. ‘Thank you,’ you repeat, emphatically. ‘Thank you so much.’ You’d smoke one now but you don’t have a lighter on you, and with your luck you probably need to save them anyway. The thought only sours your mood for a moment. 

Dogma isn’t looking convinced. ‘Niko...’

_ ‘Thank you,’ _ you say again before Dogma says anything stupid in public. Chopper laughs behind his hand.

‘Don’t suppose I could get one of those, ser-- uh. Slick.’ He grins unabashedly.

You sigh, but yeah, you already know the answer. ‘Sure, what the fuck.’ You pass him one before tucking them in your breastplate, where they’re a little uncomfortable but much harder to steal in case Niko’s victim gets wise. Besides, you like being able to feel that they’re there. Chopper lights the cig immediately and sucks on it like a drowning man.

‘Holy fuck,’ he breathes.

Fuck, now you’re jealous. You get out a cig and hold out your hand for his lighter. He passes it to you with a sympathetic grin.

God but the cigarette feels so fucking good. You exhale however many days of tension along with the smoke, more relaxed just for one drag, a tightness that’s wound itself around your brain releasing. You push the rest of your food towards Dogma, who actually finished his, and just enjoy your fucking fag, let your eyes close and try and actually succeed in not thinking about anything for several minutes until it burns down too far.

You needed that. ‘Niko, I love you.’

Niko giggles. ‘I love you too Slick.’

‘Prayer circle this evening,’ Dogma reminds you. You’ve got a schedule by this point; easier than having everyone constantly asking you.

‘Right, thanks.’

‘Prayer circle?’ Chopper asks.

‘Uh. Yeah. We--’

Dogma puts his hand on your mouth. ‘It’s just something that kind of took off. I don’t think you should lead it tonight, Slick, even if it’s not a lot of talking.’

That’s probably for the best, though you don’t think he should lead it either with how upset it made him last time. You try to communicate this with eyes alone.

‘I’ll lead it,’ Niko says brightly.

‘You’re sure?’ Dogma asks.

‘Yeah, I’ve heard Slick do it plenty of times, it’ll be easy enough.’

‘What do you guys pray for?’ Chopper asks.

‘Whatever we want, really. Slick said some very good points about just trying to get a couple people through all this, and, I dunno, it’s really just giving people a space to feel like they’re not alone in wishing the universe would just kinda make itself better.’

Holy fuck but Niko’s perceptive. And also smarter than you. You had thought the only reasons you were attracting a congregation were your sterling fibbing abilities, and Rex. ‘Right,’ Chopper says, and you can’t quite read him. ‘Huh. Okay.’

‘You can come if you want.’

He shrugs. ‘Maybe. I’ll, uh. Check it out I guess.’

Niko tells him the time and place. You get up and bus the dishes, and then notice the rest of your squad has just come in and noticed you. You’re still and silent for a moment. Fuck. They’re walking towards you, and you do  _ not _ know what you’re going to say.

The three of them stop in front of you, Gus leading. ‘Sergeant,’ he says. There’s a wariness and a worriedness in his tone.

You sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry about this morning.’ You don’t really have any ideas for excuses you can give. ‘It’s just-- stress, I guess.’ Fuck, that was lame.

None of them look convinced. Dogma appears at your side. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘We’re just trying to check in, is all,’ Gus says, and you know it’s probably true but it makes you flinch all the same, all the things that statement could be hiding. Niko and Chopper come over, too, and now there’s a big clump of you all standing conspicuously in the center of the mess like some kinda standoff and you do not like that either.

‘Chopper,’ Gus says. ‘Nice of you to join us.’ There’s resentment there.

‘I checked in with him like I said I was going to,’ you say, and you really, really do not like standing here in the middle of everything, feeling the eyes of nearby brothers on all of you. Fear sparks up your arms. Gus frowns and opens his mouth, but you cut him off. ‘Let’s talk at the barracks. Please.’ You hope you don’t sound too desperate.

‘Okay,’ Gus says, and you all walk there in a pack, which still terrifies you, there are too many of you, you are way way too noticeable--

Punch shuts the door. ‘Sergeant, we just want to know what’s going on,’ he says. ‘Are you okay?’

Gus nods. ‘It’s been really worrying. First you start going missing and always show up looking like shit, then you start getting up earlier than everyone else, then you come in looking like this and won’t let us get help, and now... this? I figured you knew what you were up to before, but now... I don’t know. You’re being really strange.’

Your heart leaps to your throat. Fuck. You’ve either got to tell a good story or tell them just the right amount of the truth or you’re done for.

Chopper steps in. ‘Look, he’s going through a lot, okay? We talked.’

‘You’ve been acting weird too, Chopper, and don’t deny it. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were up to something together. All four of you.’

Dogma glances at you nervously. ‘We’re not up to anything except being a bunch of stressed, fucked out bastards who do not need an interrogation on top of everything else,’ you say, loud and firm. ‘Everything sucks!’ You gesture wildly, tug at a bruised tendon on your side and wince. ‘Yeah, I got beat up! Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping! We’re all going to fucking die, so could you just let us sulk in peace?’

Silence. You breathe hard, panicky, unsure of what you just said. Dogma’s watching you terrified. Gus and Jester and Punch are exchanging glances. Chopper meets your eyes, makes to put his hand on your shoulder, hesitates. You nod. He puts his hand on your shoulder and keeps it there. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been gone,’ he says. ‘But it’s like the sergeant’s saying. It fucking sucks out here. Sometimes being alone helps.’

Gus sighs. ‘You’re alright, Chopper, I’m sorry for including you in this. But you weren’t here this morning.’

‘What happened this morning?’

Gus glances at you warily. You sigh. ‘I panicked and pinned Gus to the wall before I knew what I was doing. I’m really sorry, Gus. I got lost in my head. Thought you were an enemy.’

Chopper looks at you, understanding in his eyes. Gus sighs again. ‘Okay, but are you okay? Should you be in medical?’

You wince. ‘Look, it won’t happen again. If it does, you can start worrying then. But don’t tell me you guys have never been jumpy.’

‘It was the fight, wasn’t it?’ Jester asks. ‘That has you jumping at everything. It’s worse than you’re saying, I think. Sir.’

Well, that’s one way to lie about it. You sigh and let your shoulders fall. ‘Yeah.’

Dogma speaks up, tone fierce. ‘It was bad and he doesn’t need you lot on his case about it. I  _ don’t _ appreciate the implication he should be caged up in medical. He’s your sergeant and he might not be fine but he’s capable. Did he even hurt you, Gus?’

‘No,’ Gus says. ‘But it’s just freaky, innit? We’re  _ worried. _ You don’t have to get all guard dog, we just want to know if his shit is taken care of.’

Dogma snarls, loud and vicious, and puts his hand on your other shoulder. ‘It is. He has me.’

The tension in the room is palpable. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say or how to fix this. Dogma is glaring daggers at Gus, who looks a little unsure but is holding his ground.

‘Look,’ Punch says. ‘Let’s... all calm down about this. It sounds like the sergeant just got himself in some trouble. Which I think is something we all want to have over and done with. So let’s not fight about it.’

Chopper finds your eyes; a question. You shake your head. You don’t trust Gus right now.

‘Can we help at all?’ Punch asks.

‘No,’ you say, finding your voice. ‘I’m sorry. I would have gone to all of you earlier if you could. But it’s a personal issue and I didn’t want to involve anyone who didn’t have to be because it  _ will _ get ugly. I’d really appreciate just getting some space while I figure it out. You don’t have to worry about me not being a good sergeant; I’m grounded anyway because of my injuries and without bacta or anything it’s gonna be at least a couple tendays until I see a battlefield again. That should give me time to work out my own shit. You don’t have to worry about me.’

‘I don’t like this,’ Gus says.

‘I know you don’t. But please, trust me. Give me some time. If there’s still problems by the time my grounding order is removed, then y’all have my permission to meddle.’ Fuck, what are you doing. You can’t do anything by a deadline. You don’t even know how to begin. Panic pulses in your mind.

‘...Okay,’ Gus agrees. You’re too keyed up over the new problem you talked yourself into to feel relieved.

‘Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?’ Jester asks. ‘And does the captain know?’

‘The captain knows,’ you say.

‘Well why didn’t you say that in the first place,’ Gus says. ‘If Captain Rex is handling it...’

‘He is. He’s helping me handle it.’ Fuck, you should’ve just told this lie in the first place, saved yourself all this trouble. But it’s too late, you’ve already given yourself a deadline. You guess it’s just going to have to be a deadline by which to come up with a better lie, or by which to finally learn to convincingly act okay. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Gus nods. ‘Okay.’

‘That does make me feel better,’ Punch agrees. ‘I... still don’t really understand what’s going on?’

‘He’s under a lot of stress due to extenuating circumstances. I am helping him deal with the stress. Captain Rex is helping him deal with the circumstances,’ Dogma says. He presses down harder on your shoulder. You’re glad that’s not a part of you that’s bruised. You’re doubly glad when you remember Niko is taking responsibility for the prayer circle tonight and that with any luck you can just drift through the rest of today.

With any luck. Ha. That’s a good one.

‘Now, he’s not supposed to be talking, so we’re going to leave before you ask him any more questions that make him want to run his fucking mouth.’

None of them look happy. Chopper just looks uncertain. Niko looks Niko. Dogma takes you out of the room by the upper arm.

Niko follows you out into the hallway, though Chopper doesn’t. A couple of ARC troopers are hanging out chatting. Dogma cuts them a glance and keeps walking with you until you find some privacy. With the door closed he stops to catch his breath.

‘Are you okay?’ you ask, and he glares at you and you remember you’re not allowed to talk.

‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘Fucking assholes.’

You actually don’t really blame the three of them, even though Gus was getting a little suspicious for your tastes. You did kind of flip the fuck out on them this morning. ‘And what were you thinking, telling them you’ll be better in a couple tendays?’ he rounds on you.

‘I... kind of wasn’t.’

He glares. You shut up. ‘That was rhetorical.’ You shrug. ‘You’re just going to have to lie to them some more at that point, then,’ he continues, throwing his hands up. ‘Fuck.’ He pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘And Niko, you stole those cigarettes, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s-- no!’ He starts crying. ‘Fuck, why are you two so stupid?’

You want to comfort him but you’re not allowed to talk and seeing as you’re the source of his stress anyway you don’t know if you can really help. ‘He didn’t notice me,’ Niko says.

‘Well, good. That’s fucking something.’ He hiccups distraughtly.

You remember the day you told him you wanted to be friends, cute little hiccups you gave him making him laugh, calling the captain stupid names and rolling around on the floor tickling each other. It makes you feel sad.

‘I’m sorry,’ Niko says.

Dogma buries his face in his hands. ‘It’s okay. I’m sorry for calling you stupid. You just don’t know things, that’s not stupid. Slick’s the stupid one. He fucking knows better.’

Yeah, okay, you feel properly ashamed of yourself. You can’t tell him you’re sorry but you can at least look sorry, bowing your head and letting your shoulders drop.

‘Stealing’s bad, Niko. Don’t do it. If the person gets mad and figures out it’s you-- we don’t have the resources for another fight right now.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay, but maybe you should go give them back.’

You’re contrite enough to only feel so much misery at the suggestion. ‘They made Slick really happy, though,’ Niko points out.

Dogma sighs. Hiccups. ‘Yeah, and you might get caught putting them back anyway. We’ll just give them back if the person comes after you, okay?’

‘Okay.’

You can live with that. You really don’t want Niko to get beat up on your behalf, however desperate for a smoke you may already be again. Dogma just stands there holding his elbows, looking miserable. You’re all quiet. Dogma hiccups.

The thing is, you realise, is Niko does know shit. He knows how to steal, because even a real dumbass will notice a hand in their pocket, and that takes knowing that you shouldn’t, that you need to take instead of asking and that you need to be sneaky about it. He knows how to paint. His amnesia isn’t absolute, and he still doesn’t focus his eyes on anyone but he’s so much more sure of himself today than he was the day you met. It’s coming back to him, detail by little detail.

You think of how sad he looked when you talked just the two of you that night. You hope remembering will make him happier.

You try to remember nonverbal ways of saying sorry, but you were never quite in the loop in your batch and subsequent squad, too distant from everyone, and you think the finger tapping language you picked up as a child changed, maturing as all of you did, and he’s from a different batch from you, and anyway, you do  _ not _ want to think about your childhood.

Fuck.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, giving up.

Dogma nods. ‘It’s-- I mean it’s probably not your fault, Slick.’ He sounds so tired and sad and defeated.

‘I mean. It was still me who did it,’ though it’s true that you weren’t really aware of what you were doing, any of it. ‘And I’m sorry. Can I--’ You reach for him. He nods.

You pull him into a hug. ‘I’ll figure it out. It’s my squad, it’s my responsibility. I’ll just come up with a better lie. I gave myself some time, yeah?’

He nods, and hiccups. You shut up so your talking doesn’t stress him out any more, just hold him and nuzzle the side of his face. The hiccups are kind of small and pathetic.

‘I’m sorry too,’ Niko says. ‘I didn’t mean to cause more trouble for us. I just wanted to cheer Slick up.’

‘It’s okay,  _ vod’ika. _ Hopefully the guy didn’t notice.’

‘I don’t think they did.’

‘They?’ You have the same worry, is he using the rarer generic or did he have more than one target?

‘Yeah, they had a jaw tattoo.’ He brushes a hand against his own jaw to demonstrate.

You pause in snuggling Dogma to look at him. Another stray memory, knowing which tattoos correspond to which genders and pronouns. Maybe Dogma taught him, but--

‘You’re remembering so much,’ Dogma says, and you’re so glad he sounds happy. Niko shrugs.

‘Guess so. I don’t really like, notice though. I just know stuff sometimes.’

Dogma holds out a hand for Niko, who comes over and takes it. Dogma pulls him into the hug. ‘There’s no pressure,  _ vod, _ I’ll always be here to help you.’

Niko nods against both of your faces. ‘Okay. Thank you.’

You stay snuggled in a little triangle for a while. ‘Can I duck out tonight?’ Dogma asks.

‘Of course.’ You kiss his jaw. You’ll feel safe enough with Niko, and maybe Chopper at your back.

‘Thanks. I think I just need some time alone.’

‘Well stay safe.’

‘I will.’

You’re worried, but you trust him, and there’s no-one after him that you know of.

That you know of. Fuck.

‘I’ll be fine, Slick. I’ll stay somewhere where people can hear me if I need to call for help.’

That makes you feel better. You nod and nuzzle his hair. ‘You need a haircut.’

‘I do. Give me one later?’

You nod. ‘Sure. After the circle.’ You press a kiss to the shell of his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dogma youre NOT good at diffusing situations. youre really not


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lil more detailed flashback to rape in this one lads

Chopper goes with you and Niko to the circle. ‘Did the guys give you too hard of a time after I left?’ you ask him. Talking in public scares you as always, but you think this is an innocuous enough topic. You’ll keep it generic.

He shrugs. ‘Uh, not too hard. Gus was pretty angry that I’ve been disappearing so much.’ He scratches his elbow nervously.

‘I guess he’s been bottling stuff up.’ You had assumed Gus’s character to be easy-going and friendly.

‘Yeah.’

‘So he gave you shit?’

‘Yeah, but like, you don’t have to step in or anything. We just argued for a little. I told him I’d still always have his back as a squadmate but I just needed more alone time than the rest of them.’ He shrugs uncomfortably. ‘Hopefully he won’t keep getting on my case about it. Punch seemed to understand, at least.’

‘What about Jester?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t really read him.’

You get to the room. Once again you’re not the first person there. You greet Kipper with a smile, let him introduce his friends to you, and tell him Niko’s going to be leading today.

‘Oh! Okay! I don’t think we’ve really met, I’m Kipper.’

You let them talk. You trust Niko enough with normal conversations by this point, and you just want to drift through this and get it over with and spend the rest of the evening with him and Dogma. You’re excited to get to shave Dogma’s hair, remembering all the love and care he gave you, trimming yours. You want to make him feel that good. He’s been so tense, with everything that’s happened, and it keeps happening that he’s the one who winds up being strong. He deserves to be taken care of, for a while. 

Maybe you can take him to the sonic afterwards and bathe him, let him fall into your arms and just relax. You’ll clean his armor, trim his nails, shave the thin layer of stubble that prickles against the side of your face when you cuddle. Even touch up his paint if he wants you to. Make him feel fresh and clean and tended to; make him feel like he doesn’t have to take care of  _ everything. _ The thought curls warm and happy in your chest. It’s broken momentarily by it occurring to you that you could have sex with him, a thought that hadn’t actually crossed your mind before, but-- no. Neither of you want that. You just want to make him feel cared for and loved. You wonder if he has any more tattoos. You’ve not seen him undressed before. Maybe he has scars, even. You don’t know anything about his past.

You savour the fantasy while you wait for the room to fill up, imagining him naked, dark body hair on unbruised brown skin, maybe a few more tattoos in the same abstract pattern as the one on his face. Strong, well muscled arms, Dogma’s so strong. Maybe when he blushes it shows on his chest. Maybe if you tell him he’s yours you’ll get to find out. Your stomach flips at the recurring thought of imagining this as something sexual-- but it’s not, it doesn’t have to be, you’re in control. You’re safe with him, and he’s safe with you. You can rub soap into his skin, take your time, make him feel clean while you let him relax. They’re sonics, not showers, and there’s no water or energy ration, so you can take as long as you want. Massage the tension out of his hands and shoulders. If he has scars you’ll kiss them, or ignore them so he doesn’t feel self conscious. It’s not about the hurt of the past, it’s about you and him, here and now. 

You’ll figure out what combination of words will make him feel safe and calm.  _ It’s okay, it’s alright, you’re safe, you’re mine, I love you, you don’t have to worry. _ Maybe it’ll be more about your voice. It’s more about his voice, for you. Or you’ll be quiet, because you’re not supposed to talk. That’s it. You don’t want him to feel like he has to worry or fuss.

Off to the side and awash in happiness and anticipation it takes you a few moments to realise how full the room’s getting. When you look around there’s more people than you can count without trying. At least thirty. More. They’re all standing around talking, some people you recognise, some you don’t. You remember what Niko said, about people just wanting to feel like they’re not alone in wishing things would change. That’s all you’re really doing. Getting together and wishing. You see a couple ranking officers, a liuetenant in orange, a fucking ARC sergeant in blue. Wait, is that a jaw tattoo? Did Niko steal cigarettes from a fucking ARC sergeant?

No. Niko did not. There is no way he is that good, and this is not the only  _ naas’lyc’vod _ around, and you don’t even know if Niko stole from a  _ naas’lyc’vod _ or a different variety of  _ vaycyc’vod. _ There’s a lot of different jaw tattoos out there. An ARC sergeant absolutely did not get pickpocketed by an amnesiac shiny.

And then you forget about that because the door opens and you see Madden, first, and there’s a moment of disconnected confusion where you don’t understand why Madden is glowing, why pale yellow-blue light is spilling into the room like sunrise, but then there’s a smaller figure beside Madden, a gentle laugh unlike all of the laughs you always hear, and everyone quickly shuffles to stand at attention in the crowded space. You’re rooted to the spot but your hand snaps to your forehead anyway. Madden, and his friends trailing behind them, doesn’t stop and salute.

‘At ease,’ General Kenobi says, a soft smile in his voice, and on his face. ‘I’m not here for business.’

The attention in the room quickly eases, replaced with excited muttering as people go back to their own business, now a quiet hiss with such a high-ranking officer in the room. You still can’t move. You can’t quite see Kenobi, a pale blur surrounded by all this pale light. ‘What are you doing here, sir?’ someone in 501st blue asks him.

‘Attending the prayer circle,’ he says with calm dignity that shakes you to the core. He has a thick Coruscanti accent, well-heeled and light and so different from the voice the rest of you all share. ‘I want to know more about the spiritual needs of my men.’

Someone tugs on your arm. You whirl around, panicked. It’s just Niko. You’re really glad you don’t pin him to the wall. ‘Um,’ he whispers.

You nod, wide-eyed. You’re still half frozen but the other half of you is kicked into action, gears grinding desperately. Just believe you’re normal. Just believe you’re normal. ‘I’ll lead,’ you hiss to him, though you wish so, so badly that you didn’t have to. But you can’t let Niko wind up on the general’s radar.

‘Are you sure?’

You nod. You are sure. You are also pretty sure that this is all going to go absolutely badly, and if this isn’t the event that leads to your death then you will win for simultaneously luckiest and unluckiest man alive. You’re really glad Dogma isn’t here. You wonder if Niko can leave without drawing attention. ‘If you’re feeling sick you should go back to your barracks, take a nap,’ you tell him at normal volume. ‘It’s not serious, is it?’

His brow furrows in confusion for a moment. Fuck. ‘I don’t think so,’ he says a couple moments too late, blessedly catching on. ‘I, um. Think I will. Thanks.’

You pat his shoulder. ‘Go take care of yourself. We can pray together later if you want.’

He leaves, walking straight past Kenobi and out the door. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but that’s most your worries taken care of.

You’re normal. You can be normal.

Just breathe, Slick.

Dogma’s voice.  _ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

You’re normal. You can be normal.

Please, fuck. Please.

You get the feeling you’re not going to get to cut Dogma’s hair for him tonight.

General Kenobi comes over to talk to you. Fear clutches cold at the back of your neck. You can’t really see but you’re hyper aware of physical sensations, of the sweat beading at your forehead, of your clammy skin and your bruised midriff and the box of cigarettes crushed against your chest. ‘Hello,’ he says, and every particle of you is blitzed with pale light, taken apart and examined disparately and put back together cauterised. God but you hope you can speak.

‘General,’ you say, somehow, somehow, and your voice only shakes a little. ‘It’s a pleasure to have you.’

‘The pleasure is all mine. Sergeant Slick, am I correct?’

‘Yes sir.’ You’re not speaking. You’re not driving the show. Someone else is. You’re here dying in the dark cavern of your corpse, pale sunrise bleeding through the aperture as you huddle away in the shadows. You’re bleeding out all over, and maybe help will come, but it probably won’t. You’re just going to die here, alone. You don’t know what you’re doing, or what you’re supposed to be doing. You don’t know anything except blood gushing from wounds you can’t see.

'I understand this was your idea.'

'Yes, sir. I was looking for ways to give my brothers a bit more hope.'

'I appreciate it. I can tell from the turnout they do too.' He hums thoughtfully. 'Are you feeling alright, sergeant? You seem ill. Perhaps you should sit this one out.'

Fear and relief hit you in equal measure, like two blaster bolts as you squirm and sob down in the darkness of yourself. 'It's just my injuries,' you assure him, 'but maybe you're right, General. I'm sure our regular attendees can fill you in.'

'I'm sure. Go rest.'

It's an order. You almost gasp with relief for real as you salute and go out the door into the hallway. Once you're there you collapse into a heap, legs giving out, armor clacking against the ground. You hope like fuck nobody else leaves because there is not a single fucking thing you can do about this. You hug yourself and sob. You're done for. You're scared and you're hurt and you don't know what to do.

You hear the door open and flinch. 'Hey,' says a low, kind voice. Not the general. One of yours. 'Up you get.'

Strong hands lift you to your feet like you're a ragdoll. You sway dangerously, the brother swimming in and out in your blurry vision. You recognise the almost entirely blue armour. It's the ARC sergeant. They put a hand on your shoulder to steady you and you almost fall again, leaning against it. You're sure you should be panicking about this situation, but not of much else beyond that.

'I need you to lean against the wall for a moment,' they tell you. Their voice is calm and firm. They push you back against the wall, and thoughts and memories and everything collides within you and you barf.

'Fuck, I'm sorry,' someone says but you can't see him. There are hands on your wrists pinning you to the wall, rough lips on yours, everything so dark and close and inescapable, and you don't know what you're doing, you can't move, you can't fight, you can't cry out, a tongue pushing into your mouth, teeth against teeth you're not allowed to use, and you've already submitted but it's about the power, about--

‘Sergeant?’ You blink, trying to make sense of what’s in front of you. After a few seconds you recognise Jester. ‘Fuck-- here, come inside.’

He puts an arm around your shoulders and walks you to your bunk. You try to remember what happened and how you got here, but that makes you feel like you’re drowning so you quickly stop. The room seems much darker than it should be. You sway.

Cool water touches your face and wipes it clean. ‘Drink,’ Jester says, and there’s a thermos to your lips and you drink greedily, wash the vomit taste out of your mouth.

Then your chestplate is gone and you whimper in alarm. The box of cigarettes falls and bounces off your lap and onto the floor. This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, not Jester--

‘There’s vomit on it,’ he says loudly. ‘Fuck, Sergeant. What happened to you?’

After a few moments you start to come to again. Oh. ‘How... did I get here?’

He’s silent for a few seconds. ‘You don’t know?’

‘Um.’

‘Well, I don’t know either, but I answered the door and it was you.’ He picks up your cigarettes and hands them to you. ‘Sergeant, you’re  _ not _ okay. What happened?’

You squint, trying to remember. Trying to remember how much you’re allowed to tell him. ‘There was an ARC trooper...’

‘Did an ARC trooper beat you up?’ he sounds alarmed.

‘No, that wasn’t it, I...’ you shake your head and immediately regret it. Your brain pounds for mercy. ‘Jester, it’s... it’s okay. I’m okay.’

‘You’re  _ not!’ _

You’re taken aback by his tone, and stare unseeingly at him. He takes a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. I’m-- really sorry, sir. But I don’t think I can believe you in good conscious.’

He’s quiet. You’re both quiet. You grasp at nothing for a few seconds before remembering this is a situation you have to deal with. Jester’s probably not as trustworthy as Chopper. Probably doesn’t have that first hand experience with this kind of misery. He seems like a good kid. You just don’t know if he would report you and think he was helping.

Fuck. You wish you didn’t have to deal with any of this. You wish you were normal. You wish you could just let yourself slip under.

‘Are you really taking care of it?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ you say, then amend, ‘I’m trying to.’

‘You look like you haven’t eaten. Or slept.’

You sigh. ‘Things... suck, Jester.’

‘So you said.’

‘You have to be aware of how much things suck.’

‘I don’t have a whole lot to compare it to, sir.’

‘This your first deployment?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well it’s a fucking doozy. We’re being smoked out with no incoming supplies. We’re sitting ducks.’

‘I’m sure we’ll come up with something. We’ve won most of the city, and this is a crucial hub. Even if a lot of us don’t make it, our forces will pull through.’

You sob. He’s okay with the fact that he’s going to fucking die. Says it casually, voice full of damnable hope. Like the Republic is what matters, like the war is what matters, like the losses fucking don’t. You break down crying. Bury your face in your hands.

‘You can’t give up hope, sir. I know things are pretty bad, okay? I do know it. I guess I just don’t understand what the problem is. Did you get beat up again?’

You shake your head. He doesn’t understand. He isn’t going to understand.

‘Well that’s something.’

You cut him off. ‘Can you just get my  _ ori’vod? _ Please?’ You can’t take this. Can’t take how much he’s going to die and how much he’s going to think that’s okay.

‘Yes. Do you have him keyed into your comm?’

That... sure would be a smart thing for you to do. You cannot believe how unimaginably stupid you are. ‘Uh. No.’

‘Where are his barracks?’

You tell him the room number. ‘Okay, I’ll go see if I can find him.’

‘Thank you,’ you whimper.

He leaves the room. You curl up on your bunk and cry yourself out. Your armour still smells like vomit. Everything sucks, and Jester’s going to die happy about it, and now your bunk is going to smell like vomit too, and you aren’t up to shaving Dogma’s hair anymore, and now General Kenobi knows about you, and you can’t get comfortable, and you can’t eat and you can’t sleep, and you’re just living on borrowed time until someone kills you, droid or otherwise, because that’s the only way this can end.

The door opens. You look up, blinking your eyes into focus. Jester is back, with Niko. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t find the big tattoo guy,’ he says.

‘That’s fine.’ You’re still so glad to see Niko, and are only worried about Dogma for a moment before remembering he went to get some time alone. You sit up. Niko is glued to you instantly, hugging you.

‘You have puke on you,’ he points out cheerfully.

You manage a strangled laugh. ‘Um, yeah. I should... probably go shower.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

He gathers up your chestplate for you and walks with you to the sonics. You can’t bring yourself to look at Jester on the way out. You’re so relieved to have Niko here, to have someone you can trust. ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ he asks outside the stall.

‘No, it’s okay, thank you.’ You don’t need it, and you feel safe in the idea of him watching the door. Wait, shit, if something happens where the door needs watching, is he going to be able to deal with it? He’s pretty fucking smart but you don’t want him in the line of fire, from command, or from him--

Your brain shorts out on the stress and you can’t think about that anymore. You take a goddamn shower with your armor on, put your chestplate back on, stash your cigarettes, and leave the stall.

‘You smell better,’ Niko says.

‘Thanks.’

‘Should we go talk?’

‘Uh. Probably.’ Fuck. So much shit is going on and you should probably figure out what and fill them in, but right now your mind is just blank and dark. ‘Let’s, um. Wait for Dogma.’ Then at least you won’t have to repeat yourself.

He nods. ‘Okay. We can wait in our barracks.’

It takes you a second to realise he means him and Dogma’s, not you and his, because you don’t share a barracks. ‘Right.’

You walk back together. Your body hurts. Argon squad’s barracks are empty. Niko hoists himself up onto the bunk above Dogma’s and helps you up after him. You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder.

You’re quiet, breathing together. ‘We should key a channel on our comms,’ you say, remembering, and then you realise he isn’t breathing anymore.

You sit up, alarmed. He’s frozen, deadly still. ‘Niko?’ you ask, urgent, alarmed. ‘Niko, are you okay?’

His eyes are glazed over, his pupils dilated. ‘Niko--’ Fuck, should you call for a medic? Is this something you can trust command with? Is this something you can trust yourself to handle? ‘Niko!’ You grab his wrist, try to feel for a pulse.

He takes a shuddering breath in. Thank  _ fuck. _ You still stare at him, still deathly worried. He looks round at you, eyes big and shocky. Yanks his wrist back.

‘Niko, are you okay?’

Huge eyes meet yours for a moment and then keep travelling across your face. You’re terrified. ‘Niko?’

‘What the fuck,’ he breathes, voice not the sweet sing-songy thing you’re used to but wracked and shaken. You stare at each other, both breathing hard.

‘Where,’ he asks, ‘the fuck am I?’


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why was this chapter so haaaard :(((( my brain hurts :(
> 
> OH ALSO i commissioned some art from [katunu](https://twitter.com/Katunus) (nsfw stuff at link) who was an absolute sweetheart to work with!!! beautiful art very reasonably priced uwu [anyway its the boys so see it here!!!!](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/498558915697704961/753751678704156773/Dogma_X_Slick_Final_Render_.png)

You stare at him, the bottom of your stomach evaporated. Dogma said something, about him having lost his memory more than once. You really fucking hope that’s not what’s happening now. But it probably is.

‘Niko?’ You ask tentatively.

‘Who the fuck--’

Yeah okay. ‘Listen. You don’t remember anything, right?’

He looks at you hard. Nods.

‘Kriff. Okay.’ You take a deep breath in. Try to organise the information he needs. Settle for just thinking of the information he needs. Your head is still pounding. ‘Your name’s Niko, you’re a soldier for the Grand Army of the Republic, we’re in your barracks. My name’s Slick, we’re friends, I’m here too.’

He stares at you. ‘What.’

‘Do you remember  _ anything?’ _

He pauses. Shakes his head slowly.

‘Look. I know you don’t have any goddamn reason to trust me but if command finds out this is happening to you you’re going to be flagged up as defective and bad things will happen. Very bad things. I and our friend Dogma have been keeping you under the radar; this isn’t the first time you’ve lost your memory. Can you at least believe me on that?’

He looks at you for a long moment before nodding. ‘Yeah,’ he says, voice hoarse. ‘Okay.’

You’re really, really glad he remembers things like how to talk and how to decide to believe people. Silver fucking lining.

‘This is an army?’ he asks. It's so fucking weird, the way he's squinting at you mistrustfully. He looks like an entirely different person.

‘Yes. We’re at war.'

'Why, what's the situation?'

You sigh, take a moment to assemble the information in your mind, to figure out what he needs to know. You open your mouth to speak, and then the door opens and Slinger comes in.

Your breath freezes in your chest. 'Hey Niko,' Slinger says sadly, looking at the floor, then glances up and notices you. 'Oh, hi Slick.'

'Hi,' you say, putting your hand on Niko's wrist and hoping to god he understands not to talk. 'How are you?' You gesture with your eyebrows towards the door as you say it, trying to be friendly enough that you can sneak Niko out without another incident like last time.

He sighs, sitting down on his bunk. 'Okay I guess. Wish we weren't out of booze.'

Niko drops silently from the bunk to the ground. You don't think you can be quite so sneaky. 'Yeah, I know what you mean,' you agree. 'Uh. Sorry, Slinger, we were kinda hoping for some privacy, are you going to be okay if we check out?' You put on your best oops we were about to fuck half-grin half-grimace on as you climb down.

He looks up. 'Oh, fuck, yeah, sorry, I mean I can leave, or just ignore you guys...'

'You're fine. There's enough empty rooms on base. See you later.'

'Bye.' He looks back at the floor, tucked back into despondency.

You leave quickly, take Niko's wrist to make sure he stays in tow as you go off to find an empty room. It takes a bit, including walking in on some people actually fucking, but you manage. 'Okay,' you say quietly, shutting the door. 'We can talk here, just keep your voice down.'

'What the hell is going on?' he asks.

'We're military property and you're fucking broken and if anyone finds out you're done for,' you summarise for him. He stares. 'I'm also defective though I haven't lost my memory like you have. At least not to the same extent. We and our friend Dogma are the only ones who know, well, okay, this  _ shabuir _ whose name I don't know knows too and he's blackmailing me about it, but the point is, we are currently trying not to die, and if anything lets slip we are  _ done for. _ Got all that?'

He nods slowly. 'It's Slick, right? And I'm Niko?'

'Yeah.'

He nods again, just staring.

'Dogma says this has happened before with you, though I wasn't friends with either of you yet at the time. I think he already has a good summary of all the information you have to know to survive worked out, though. He'll be a lot better at filling you in, but we have to go find him. Uh-- okay, so, the basics, we're property of the Republic, the enemy is the Separatists who used to be part of the Republic but are trying to break off and nobody is going easy about it. They use a droid army; almost all our enemies are droids. You're just a trooper, rank and file, you're in a squad with Dogma, and Slinger who we ran into back there.' You point out the rank signifier in his chest, free of chips. 'See that blank box? It means trooper. Anyone who has any other rank there, just call them sir and be respectful and that should get you by for now. Do what I'm doing or what everyone else is doing.'

'You're not a trooper?'

'I'm a sergeant, only one step above. But we're friends.'

'Okay.'

'Any questions?'

'Uh.'

You look him over. His eyes are defocused, but that's the only thing he has in common with the Niko you know. His demeanor's different, the way he holds his jaw is different. There's a tight stance in his shoulders, a wariness about him.

You wonder if the Niko you knew is gone. Pain and blinding sadness tug at you for a moment, thinking of his sweet voice, his steady hands, the stolen cigarettes. You make yourself swallow it; you're not going to mourn someone who's standing in front of you. That's cruel. You don't know anything about this situation, anyway, about the person he is now or the person he'll become.

It doesn't matter, you think fiercely. This man is yours. He's Niko, whatever being Niko means now, and the sadness is gone already. You haven't lost a single damn thing. 'Do you need me to repeat all that?'

He nods. You do, twice. 'I think I have it.'

You nod. 'Okay. Are you ready to go look for Dogma?'

'Yes.'

You leave. You don't hold onto him this time, just keep him in your peripheral vision. He's walking beside you, keeping pace perfectly. Dogma said he was going to stay in earshot of others, so you start from the commons and spiral out from there, and it doesn’t take too long to find him.

‘What’s wrong,’ he says instantly, looking at your faces, and gets to his feet. In the same second you close the space between the two of you to talk low in his ear; there’s more people in this area and you cannot be overheard.

‘Niko,’ you whisper. ‘Dogma, he lost everything again.’

Dogma’s eyes get big and terrified. ‘Niko--’

Niko waves awkwardly, looking around.

‘I thought you should--’

He nods, mouth open. Covers it. ‘Oh my god...’ He takes in a steadying breath. ‘Okay. Okay. I got this. You probably have a lot of questions, I can answer them, let’s just pick up my datapad and find somewhere a little more secluded.’

'Alright,' Niko says. There's still this apprehension about him, but at the same time he's starting to seem calm, or if not quite calm then like he has a handle on the situation, so that makes one of you. He keeps looking around, eyes not stopping on anything, assessing. Y'all leave again, and you wait outside the bunkroom with Niko while Dogma fetches his datapad, avoiding the potentiality of Slinger, and then you find some remote room full of crates in which to shelter.

'Okay,' Dogma says. His breathing is louder than it should be. 'Quiet voices still. I'll give you the summary and then you can ask questions?'

'Is it written down, can I just read it?' He nods at the datapad.

Dogma seems a little surprised by this. 'Sure. Of course.' He hands it over.

You nose the side of Dogma's head concernedly while Niko reads. He takes a steadying breath. You don't really have anything to say that could help, your own panic rising high in your throat. But at least it's not just the two of them this time, as much as you're a liability. You're determined not to bring up any of your shit and freak Dogma out even more, even as the events of this evening come suddenly flooding back.

Well, fuck.

You should tell him about Kenobi like you told him about Skywalker, he has to know, has to have time to deal with the information before the next prayer circle, but like with Skywalker you really don't want to talk about it, it's too big a problem for any of you to do anything about and you'd rather just hide and wait for death to come to you--

And now this, all this, and Dogma's going to be busy with Niko--

Maybe you can fix it yourself. Not worry them. You're a big boy, why should it always have to be Dogma dealing with everything? The words  _ because you're a fucking idiot _ float across your mind but you bat them away. Nothing came of Skywalker. Maybe nothing will come of Kenobi. But you're expected to attend the prayer circle, so step one is figuring out if he's going to come back, and then you can see if you need an excuse.

Okay. You can do this. You have a goal.

You're... fucking terrified. But so is Dogma. You'll share the load. Niko knows already, you think briefly, before remembering that he doesn't.

Niko and Dogma are talking. '--said we were property,' Niko says. His voice is quiet and wary.

Dogma bites his lip. 'Do you want me to handle this?' you ask him. You don't expect him to say yes, expect him to want to give Niko the propaganda spiel just to keep him safe like before. You don't even know if he still believes it, even, still thinks you're crazy however much he may love you-- but then he nods and turns away.

Some surety settles in you. The feeling isn't warm, because it's horrible, but Dogma believes you. He believes you. And he wants you to say it.

That more than anything in months calms your ever-present panic. Dogma believes you. He wants you to say it. Niko focuses his attention on you, brows and jaw tense. 'We are property,' you tell him lowly. 'Commissioned and paid for. The perfect army. They just don't want us to know it. They tell us we've got the best job in the world. Knowing that-- that we're slaves?' A knot forms in your throat but you keep going. 'That can get you in a lot of trouble. So whatever Dogma wrote there, that's what you've gotta act like, and that's what you've gotta follow. Don't ever let anyone know you think otherwise.' You remember Dogma that first night,  _ don't ever, don't ever, don't ever. _ 'But yeah. We are property. We can't leave and we don't have rights and if we don't die for their cause they'll kill us for it. Do you understand?'

He wets his lips, swallows. Closes his eyes for a moment. Opens them and looks you in yours for just a second. They're steely and afraid. 'I understand.'

'Only thing we got is holding out long enough to get to love each other,' you tell him, remembering that night you spent together, remembering him asking why you should even bother. You hold out your hand for his. He takes it. 'I know you don't know us yet but we've got you,  _ vod. _ You're our brother and we're gonna look out for you, even after you get back on your feet.' You squeeze his hand.

He nods. 'Okay. Thank you.'

'Do you have any more questions?'

'No. I'll get back to reading.'

You leave him to it and tend to Dogma. You're so much more confident than you were just a bit ago. You can do this. You nudge your hand against his questioningly. His breath is quiet and small in his chest. He doesn't respond.

'Dogma, are you with me?' you ask quietly. 'Do you need anything,  _ cyare?' _

He turns his head to look at you. 'What did you call me?'

_ 'Cyare.' _ You hope you didn't overstep, he doesn't need additional stress right now, but it's true. You can't think of a better word for him than beloved.

His breath catches. 'Slick, you-- romantic idiot.' He huffs a little and nuzzles your face. You can tell his annoyance is just for show; there's something quiet and starstruck about him. He told you no-one ever wanted to be friends with him before. You need to shower him in love and make up for lost time. Make him know you want him, and him specifically, so much you could cry with it. Make him know you can never get enough of holding him and nuzzling his face. You do that now, nuzzle him back and pull him into your arms. He sobs softly.

'I know it's a lot,' you tell him. 'But it'll be okay. We've got this. You have your lessons, and I can drive the ship. You already did most of the work. All we have to do is watch his back.'

He nods against you, holds you tight. For a moment you imagine against your will what it would be like if he lost his memory. You'd be sad about it, yes, but-- you'd just teach him he's loved all over again.

Would he still want you? Would things still happen the same way? Would you be all alone again?

It doesn't matter, because it's not happening. And if it did-- he'd be the important part. You would take care of him, and if he left you he would leave you, but you would never force him to love you, to be with you. The thought alone makes you feel sick. You would just show him how loved he is, and deal with his decisions.

What if he left you without losing anything? What if he just decided he didn't want you anymore?

Your throat ties into a knot. You don't think that would happen. You're going to do all you can to make sure he's taken care of and cherished and happy. If he's unhappy, you want to solve it, not let it fester and come between you.

But what if he decides he's safer without you? You wouldn't blame him for that.

No. He believes you. He wanted you to speak. And he told you, in the sonic in medical, that he's not going anywhere. You told him, you think, to leave. And he didn't.

'Are you okay, Slick?'

You must be trembling or something. You hum against the side of his face, close your eyes and press yourself in, just contact, nothing else in the whole world. 'Just thinking of what ifs. They're not real.' You're half reassuring yourself.

'They're not,' he agrees. 'You're safe.'

It's so sweet of him, assuring you of your safety above everything else. You kiss his cheek. 'Still need to cut your hair.'

'Later. I'm more worried about Niko right now.'

You nod, internally berating yourself for forgetting about Niko, even if it was just for like, five minutes. Oh well. No harm done. You can't help it that Dogma makes you forget everyone else exists.

Wait what if that wasn’t what he meant by asking you to handle it--

Your brief peace shatters. What if he doesn’t believe you? What if he didn’t want you to say all that? ‘Slick? Slick?’

His voice is scared. You force yourself back to the present, though it takes a great deal of effort and your lungs stutter every breath. He looks stricken. ‘You...’

He puts a careful hand on your face. ‘What about me?’

You can feel Niko’s eyes on you to the left. You shudder. ‘Did-- did I do good?’ you manage. You feel so young saying it. Like a scared cadet.

‘You did great.’ His voice and expression drop with relief into kindness. ‘You’ve done everything so well.’ He strokes your hair. ‘You mean helping Niko, right?’

You nod, small. ‘T--talking to him.’

‘Yes. You did good.’ There’s something shuddery, something scared behind his voice. But you believe him. ‘You’ve done perfectly,  _ cyare.’ _

The word makes your heart soar. You lean into his hand. He keeps petting you. It’s all going to be okay, if Dogma says you did well, if Dogma’s okay with it all. You feel silly already, on the other side, but comforted nonetheless. You can keep being strong now. It’ll be okay.

‘How are you doing, Niko?’ he asks, looking over though not letting go of you. ‘Any questions? Are you finding all the information?’

‘I’m fine, thanks. I wanna read through everything, make sure I have everything you set out as important, and then I wanna know about what you didn’t write down here.’

He nods. ‘Okay. Well let me know.’

‘If you want to shave your hair I can come with, I agree that I shouldn’t be left alone right now but there’s no reason I can’t read quietly somewhere else.’

You look at Dogma, a question. Everything that’s happened has put a damper on your fantasy, needing to babysit Niko, and how weird this all is, how different he’s acting. You need to talk to Dogma alone about it-- Niko, not the haircutting fantasy-- where it won’t make Niko self-conscious. Ask him if this is normal, for what he has of a sample size. Probably once Niko’s asleep.

‘Alright,’ he agrees. ‘But we can’t talk freely in public.’

‘That’s fine, I’m just reading.’

You swing by their barracks again to pick up Dogma’s shaving set and then hit a nearby fresher. Niko crouches against the wall, datapad in hand. ‘Kneel?’ you ask Dogma. Even with all your worries it sends a thrill up your chest now that you’re here, getting to do this for him. You’re gonna be thorough and firm and careful. You’re gonna make him feel so good.

He kneels, off to the side by Niko, in front of the counters with mirrors but no sinks. You take the shaver out of its case, stroke your thumb along the hair behind his ear. ‘You just want it all off?’

‘Please.’

You kiss the top of his head, linger on it. You really want to do this right. You power on the shaver and start from the back of his neck, slow movements, pressing down firm to shave away as much hair as possible. You brace the side of his head with your other hand, holding him carefully still, so he doesn’t have to hold tension in his neck holding his head up himself.

It feels unreal, to be here after the day you've had. You're worried about Niko. You're worried about Kenobi, but if you think about that your brain starts to blitz out so you don't right now. You're worried about everything else that's going on, but that's another thing you can't really afford to face. It's just Niko, and Dogma's hair, and asking if Kenobi is planning on coming back to the circle. Those are the things you can deal with right now.

Hell of a day, though. You wonder if you imagined the ARC trooper in the middle there. That was kind of weird.

You try to focus on shaving Dogma’s hair, and partway succeed, at least doing what you feel is a good job. You hope it feels nice. You brush all the little hairs away and kiss the back of his head. ‘Do you want me to shave your face?’ You run a hand along his jaw. He leans into it, eyes closed.

‘Please.’

You do that for him, take slow and steady breaths and try to focus only on the miracle in front of you and not any of your worries. You were so lost in him, earlier. Where’s that when you want it?

Still, it feels nice, to care for him. You focus on the feeling of his face, your hand on his jaw, all the little ways his face differs from yours, different miniscule bumps and better cared for skin, lighter eye bags, fewer creases, cheeks less gaunt. You’re much more careful than you ever are with yourself. You’re glad that despite your earlier distraction you’re able to find this love and wonder, this perfect feeling, even if just for a little.

Afterwards you trim his nails for him, intend to clean them next but he insists you cut them down to the bed, so that saves you that step. People walk past you, and you notice them all but none of them stop to pay you mind so it’s okay. Niko watches you over the datapad occasionally, and it’s a little unsettling because he’s new, because you’re not yet used to that particular gaze, unfocused as it may be, eyes shifting around. But it’s okay. It’s only Niko.


End file.
